r 


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THE 

ALBATROSS  NOVELS 

By  ALBERT  ROSS 

23  Volumes 

May  be  bad  wherever  books  are  sold  at  the  price  TOO 

paid  for  this  volume 

Black  Adonis,  A 
Garston  Bigamy,  The 
Her  Husband's  Friend 
His  Foster  Sister 
His  Private  Character 
In  Stella's  Shadow 
Love  at  Seventy 
Love  Gone  Astray 
Moulding  a  Maiden 
Naked  Truth,  The 
New  Sensation,  A 
Original  Sinner,  An 
Out  of  Wedlock 
Speaking  of  Ellen 
Stranger  Than  Fiction 
Sugar  Princess,  A 
That  Gay  Deceiver 
Their  Marriage  Bond 
Thou  Shalt  Not 
Thy  Neighbor's  Wife 
Why  I'm  Single 
Young  Fawcett's  Mabel 
Young  Miss  Giddy 

a  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO. 
Publishers  ::  ::  New  York 


HER 

HUSBAND'S  FRIEND, 

BY  ALBERT  Ross, 


AUTHOR  OF 

''THOU   SHALT    NOT,"  "    IN    STELLAS  SHADOW,' 

"SPEAKING  OF  ELLEN,"  "WHY  I'M  SINGLE," 

"  His  PRIVATE  CHARACTER,"  ETC. 

"  No  man  ever  arranged  a  diffi- 
culty between  husband  and  wife 
without  being  himself  a  sufferer. 
You  cannot  unite  these  millstones, 
but  if  you  could,  you  would  be  ground 
to  pieces  between  them" — Page  182. 


NEW   YORK: 

T»IOHT,  )I*3,  (T  3.   W.    OILLIK3HA* 

G.    W    Billing  ham     Co.,    Publishers. 


CONTENTS, 


I.  In  the  Place  d  1'Etoil 9 

II.  A  Modern  Arcadia *6 

III.  "Was  it  for  this  you  Married  r  .     .    .     J« 

IV.  "  My  nature  demands  sympathy  "  .    .       53 
V.  Miss  Casson  at  Home 69 

VI.  "  May  we  pray  for  you  ?** 86 

VII.  When  Love  has  Fled  IM 

VIII.  "  Why  do  you  visit  her  r      ....     119 

IX.  "  My  husband  !     You  know  him  P*       .  139 

X.  What  the  Spy  Discovered      .    .    .    .     i$s 

XI.  "  You  have  children,  also  "     ....  i6» 

XII.  Haunting  the  Railway  Station  ...     171 

XIII.  On  Dangerous  Ground 177 

XIV.  Stung  to  Madness 187 

XV.  Jim  Brodie's  Warning 104 

XVI.  Off  the  Scent il» 

XVII.  Appealing  to  the  Law sa$ 

LU 

20619G6 


ooimnprs. 


XVIII.  Darrell  under  Arrest 232 

XIX.  An  Unsealed  Letter 243 

XX.  "  I  represent  your  wife"   .     .     .     .     .     253 

XXI.  "  I  am  a  wicked  woman  " 263 

XXII.   Mordaunt  Returns  to  Auburn  ...     271 

XXIII.  "  I  love  you,  Anna  Darrell !"       ...  283 

XXIV.  The  Touch  of  Lips 293 

XXV.  "  It  is  too  late,  Edmund  " 300 

XXVI.  "  Mrs.  Grundy  is  very  useful  "...     317 
XXVII.  Shut  up  in  Paris    .     .  ....  333 

XXVIII.  Side  by  adc     .  ....     345 

XXIX.  Peace  at  Last 353 


TO  MY  READERS. 


A  few  months  ago,  while  enjoying  the  bathing  at  Boulogne* 
sur-Mer,  I  picked  up,  quite  by  accident,  a  copy  of  a  London 
newspaper,  containing  an  account  of  the  seizure  of  certain 
novels  of  mine,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  on  the  ground  that 
they  were  of  an  improper  character.  Three  days  later  I  was 
on  my  way  to  America,  prepared  to  defend  my  property  and 
my  reputation.  When  I  arrived,  I  found  that  a  tribunal  had 
already  passed  upon  the  question,  and  that  the  judgment 
was  in  my  favor. 

No  one  can  doubt  that  an  occurrence  of  this  kind-— no 
matter  what  its  outcome — is  very  annoying.  I  have  my  own 
idea  of  what  constitutes  literary  propriety,  and  I  have  made 
pronounced  departures  from  the  methods  of  most  of  the  pr««- 
snt  school  of  fiction  writers.  In  doing  this  I  have  achieved  a 
success  which  naturally  attracts  attention  and  arouses  «nry. 
Incidentally  I  have  made  some  money,  for  which  I  am  not 
at  all  sorry.  But  I  would  no  more  write  what  I  considered 
an  improper  book,  than  I  would  break  into  a  bank  or  forge 
a  check. 

While  saying  this,  I  may  as  well  admit  frankly  that  I  hay« 
not  pretended  to  write  for  small  children.  To  place  the 
standard  of  novels  at  the  gauge  of  a  school-girl's  intellect 
would  be  an  outrage  on  the  intelligent  mature  reader.  There 
are  subjects  worth  discussing  which  the  infant  mind  cannot 
comprehend.  All  I  claim  is  that  I  have  never  failed  to 
point  out  the  true  path ;  and  that,  if  I  have  erred  at  all,  it 
has  been  in  treating  my  "  sinners  "  too  severely. 
[7] 


•  TO  MT    BEADEU8. 

The  story  before  you  is  that  of  a  woman  and  man  who 
passed  through  sore  temptation  and  emerged  triumphant. 
Surely  nothing  could  be  pure  if  this  is  not.  And  y«t  I  have 
felt  as  if  a  censor  stood  at  my  elbow  and  looked  over  my 
shoulder  as  I  wrote,  ready  to  cavil  at  a  word,  an  expression, 
or  a  phrase.  If  there  were  any  recognized  authority  which 
could  license  me  to  produce  a  book,  as  the  Lord  Chamberlain 
of  England  does  a  play,  I  would  write  as  I  choose  and  submit 
to  his  mutilations.  But  no  one  knows  from  what  source  light- 
ning may  strike  the  American  novel.  There  are  societies, 
known  and  unknown,  which  may  take  a  fancy  to  "  suppress  " 
it  I  do  not  seek  for  that  kind  of  advertising  and  I  hay* 
written  accordingly. 

"  Her  Husband's  Friend  "  is  not  what  I  would  like  it  to  be, 
but  I  hope  it  may  prove  welcome  to  that  army  of  readers 
who  have  in  less  than  two  years  purchased  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  of  my  novels.  For  what  is  lacking  in 
realism  do  not  blame  me,  but  lay  it  to  those  who  would 
make  one  law  for  the  American  author  and  another  for  the 

translator  of  foreign  works. 

ALBERT  ROSS. 

Address : 

]9«.noW.  23d  Street. 
New  York  City. 


HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 


CHAPTER   I 

IH  THE  PLACE  DE  L*  KTOILE. 

One  beautiful  afternoon  in  the  month  of  June,  in 
the  year  1870,  two  American  gentlemen  rode  slowly 
up  the  Avenue  des  Champs  Elys£es,  in  the  city  of 
Paris.  They  had  traversed  the  Place  de  la  Con» 
corde,  with  its  obelisk,  its  fountains,  and  its  mem- 
ories of  a  great  past ;  and,  after  creeping  at  that 
snail's  pace  which  is  the  delight  of  the  Parisian 
cocher  along  the  magnificent  way,  they  paused  at 
the  Arch  of  Triumph,  which  stands,  the  wonder  of 
nations,  in  the  Place  de  1'  Etoile.  Paris,  always 
lovely  from  April  to  October,  is  at  its  best  in  June, 
and  this  particular  afternoon  was  as  nearly  perfect 
as  one  could  desire. 

The  gentlemen  were  both  young,  if  being  on  the 
sunny  side  of  thirty  entitles  a  man  to  that  distinc- 
tion. Each  was,  in  fact,  nine-and-twenty  years  of 
age,  and  they  had  known  each  other  ever  since 
their  boyhood  days,  when  they  attended  the  same 
iehool  In  one  of  the  American  cities.  Though  the 


18  HEB  HUSBAND'*  FRIEND. 

sio«t  attached  of  friends,  they  were  little  alike,  either 
in  their  views  of  life,  their  habits  of  thought,  or 
their  manner  of  address. 

Harold  Mordaunt  was  the  name  of  the  gayer  of 
the  pair,  a  bright,  sunny-faced  fellow,  with  a  good 
color,  a  pair  of  blue  eyes,  and  an  athletic  build.  He 
seemed  to  infuse  his  own  spirits  into  everything,  and 
entertained  his  companion  with  a  constant  fire 
of  running  small-talk  in  reference  to  the  sights  of 
their  drive.  Edmund  Darrell,  the  other,  was  of 
slenderer  mould,  with  more  of  the  aspect  of  the 
student  in  his  make-up,  and  it  would  not  have  taken 
a  very  close  observer  to  have  detected  in  his  appear- 
ance on  this  June  morning  a  constraint  that  seemed 
almost  unnatural. 

As  soon  as  the  carriage  in  which  the  friends  rode 
paused  before  the  Arch  of  Triumph,  Mordaunt  burst 
into  enthusiastic  eulogies  of  it,  both  as  a  work  of 
art  and  for  the  genius  which  it  is  meant  to  com- 
memorate. To  all  of  the  fulsome  praises  which  he 
lavished,  his  companion  returned,  however,  only 
monosyllabic  replies.  For  a  time  Mordaunt  was  too 
much  taken  up  with  the  fervor  of  his  own  utterances 
to  note  his  friend's  unresponsive  mood,  but  at  length 
it  dawned  upon  him  that  his  interest  in  the  monu- 
ment was  not  being  wholly  shared,  and  he  paused  in 
the  midst  of  an  unusually  glowing  period  to  ascer- 
tain the  reason. 

"It  occurs  to  me,  my  dear  Edmund,"  he  said 
with  a  smile,  "that  you  are  not  paying  as  strict 
attention  to  my  oratory  as  a  good  voyager  should 
give  to  his  guide.  Are  you  fully  cognizant  of  tht 
fact  that  you  are  standing  before  the  grandest 
triumphal  arch  that  the  world  now  possesses,  if  not, 
as  I  believe  the  grandest  it  ever  has  owned  ?  Do  jott 


Df   THE   PLACE   DB   L*    BTOILB.  11 

know  that  this  spot  on  which  you  are,  with  Its 
twelve  great  avenues  radiating  from  this  Star,  is  the 
centre  of  all  that  is  beautiful  in  France  and  the  envy 
of  every  other  capital  in  Christendom  ?" 

The  other  gentleman  acknowledged  the  question 
by  a  slight  bow,  but  gave  no  indication  of  being 
particularly  impressed  by  the  points  enumerated. 

"  You  must  not  forget,  Harry,"  he  replied,  pleas- 
antly, "  that  this  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  seen 
this  arch.  I  rode  past  here  on  Sunday  on  my  way 
to  the  Bois." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  for  all  that,"  responded  his 
friend,  "  that  this  does  not  explain  your  coolness. 
People  usually  find  the  monument  growing  upon 
them  with  each  visit.  I  know  it  has  been  so  with 
me,  the  same  as  it  was  with  the  Church  of  St.  Peter, 
at  Rome.  If  I  were  to  come  here  every  day  for  a 
year,  I  think  it  would  impress  me  more  and  more 
to  the  end.  You  have  seen  it  twice,  forsooth,  and 
your  interest  in  it  is  exhausted  !  You  have  not  a 
word  to  say  in  its  praise.  There  is  no  rapt  astonish- 
ment in  your  gaze,  no  lighting  up  of  your  counte- 
nance in  the  presence  of  the  architecturally  perfect 
work." 

Edmund  Darrell  grew  slightly  uneasy  at  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  being  forced  to  make  an 
answer  he  did  not  relish. 

"  I  will  take  no  issue  with  you,"  he  said,  "  on  Its 
architectural  beauties,  but — " 

"  Oh,  confound  it !  don't  bring  your  Communistic- 
Anarchistic  notions  into  such  a  discussion  as  this  Y* 
cried  Harry  Mordaunt,  with  an  expression  of  the 
greatest  aversion.  "Try  to  understand  what  this 
arch  truly  represents.  It  commemorates  the  vi<y 
tones  of  the  greatest  soldier  who  ever  ?valked  the 


12  HER  HIJSB AMD'S 

earth.  A  nation  does  well  to  remember  its  noblest 
sons,  and  France  has  done  no  wiser  thing  than  to 
rear  this  arch  to  Napoleon,  and  to  build  that  regal 
house  for  his  ashes  whose  dome  you  can  see  over 
there  at  the  Invalides." 

The  cab-driver,  happy  in  knowing  that  he  was  to  be 
paid  by  the  hour,  sat  on  his  box,  blinking  in  the  sun 
and  wondering  what  the  two  Anglaises  were  talking 
about  so  earnestly. 

Darrellgave  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience. 

"You  know  very  well,  Harry,  that  I  consider  that 
sort  of  thing  stuff  and  nonsense,"  said  he.  "  Bona- 
parte was  simply  and  solely  an  ambitious  soldier  of 
fortune,  who  coldly  sacrificed  a  million  mistaken 
followers  to  gain  for  himself  an  empire  the  greatest 
in  the  world,  and  perished  miserably  in  a  prison,  as 
he  deserved.  All  talk  about  his  grandeur  is  lost  on 
me.  As  for  this  monument,  if  one  could  consider  it 
solely  by  itself,  it  is  indeed  a  thing  of  beauty.  If  I 
were  able  to  forget  what  it  means,  I  might  become  as 
enthusiastic  as  you  are.  But  when  I  look  at  it  with 
the  light  of  history  in  my  eyes  I  can  see  only  the 
glorification  of  an  unprincipled  Corsican  butcher. 
Let  us  drive  on.  The  memories  that  this  arch  calls  up 
will  be  likely  to  put  me  in  an  ill-temper,  and  the 
sooner  we  get  away  from  it  the  better." 

Harry  Mordaunt  met  these  rather  waspish  expres- 
sions with  a  musical  laugh,  and,  bidding  the  coach- 
man continue  the  drive  into  the  Bois,  he  entered  the 
carriage  with  his  friend.  As  they  passed  down  the 
Avenue  de  la  Grande  Arme'e,  he  resumed  the  con- 
versation at  the  point  where  it  had  been  left  off. 

"Edmund  Darrell,  descendant  as  you  are  of  along 
line  of  French  rulers,  if  not  of  princes,  through  your 
ancestors,  the  DeCourccys,  I  am  surprised  at  you. 


IN  THE  PLACE  DB  L*   ETOILB.  IS 

It  is  a  wonder  of  wonders  that  time  has  made  such  a 
raving  king-hater  out  of  the  happy-go-lucky  chap  I 
used  to  know  at  school.  When  you  first  began  to 
talk  like  this  to  me,  I  thought  it  merely  a  new  phase 
of  the  old  humor  I  remembered  so  well ;  but  you 
have  kept  it  up  till  I  actually  am  compelled  to  believe 
you  really  mean  it !  I  should  think  such  fellows  as 
you  would  keep  away  from  a  place  like  Paris.  If 
you  had  your  way  it  would  be  a  nice  city  to  live  in, 
wouldn't  it  ?  Not  a  fountain,  not  a  monument,  not 
a  flower-bed — nothing  but  one  dreary  dead-level  of 
Equality  !" 

As  Darrell  turned  toward  his  companion  his  dark 
eyes  kindled. 

"  How  inexcusably  you  misunderstand  us,  Harry  ! 
Not  a  monument !  If  I  governed  France — or  rather 
if  I  were  the  representative  of  the  People,  who  ought 
to  and  will  yet  govern  her — I  would  place  a  monu- 
ment in  that  very  Place  de  1'  Etoile,  greater  and 
grander  fhan  that  sign  of  the  shambles  that  now 
degrades  it.  Instead  of  bearing  titles  that  tell  only 
of  blood  and  rapine,  it  should  be  covered  with  the 
names  of  the  men  of  all  countries  who  have  achieved 
true  glory  in  the  arts  and  sciences.  It  should  sym- 
bolize the  grandeur  of  peace  and  prosperity,  rather 
than  the  brutal  murder  of  brethren  at  the  whim  of  a 
despot.  I  would  tear  down  that  Corsican's  image, 
and  in  its  place  present  the  likenesses  of  Shakes- 
peare and  Homer,  of  Dante  and  Petrarch.  The  new 
arch  should  teach  the  children  to  reverence  the 
name  of  Morse,  who  invented  the  telegraph,  of  Gut- 
tenberg,  who  introduced  in  Europe  the  first  movable 
types,  of  Hoe,  who  perfected  the  printing  press,  of 
Howe,  who  revolutionized  the  art  of  sewing.  It 
should  tell  to  the  world  to  whom  we  owe  the  theory 


14  HKB    HTJiBAND'8    FXIEXD. 

of  vaccination,  which  has  prevented  the  periodical 
depopulation  of  countries  ;  the  anaesthetics  that  lull 
to  sleep  the  senses  formerly  racked  with  excruciat- 
ing pain  during  surgical  operations.  Think  of  the 
glories  that  a  genuine  Arch  of  Triumph  might  bear, 
and  then  compare  them  to  this  pitiable  tale  of  the 
most  disgraceful  page  of  history  in  so-called  civilized 
times  !" 

"  Most  of  the  men  you  speak  of  have  also  their 
monuments,"  interposed  Mordaunt. 

"Yes,"  assented  Darrell,  quickly.  "I  wish  they 
could  be  ranged  in  a  row  by  the  side  of  that  one 
yonder,  so  that  you  could  mark  the  contrast.  It 
would  take  the  stone  in  all  of  them  put  together,  to 
reach  half  way  to  the  top  of  this  tribute  to  one  man, 
and  the  generation  that  is  growing  up  judges  their 
relative  importance  by  just  such  visible  signs  as 
these.  Everywhere  is  the  lesson  taught  that  no  one 
is  so  deserving  of  adulation  as  the  successful  soldier. 
Go  to  London  and  see  which  is  the  tallest  monu- 
ment. Nelson's  !  Which  is  second  to  it  ?  Welling- 
ton's !  Here  it  is  Bonaparte's.  Follow  the  sun 
around  the  earth  and  see  if  it  is  not  the  same,  except 
where  some  hereditary  king  has  given  the  prefer- 
ence to  himself  or  one  of  his  worthless  ancestors." 

"  And  you  and  your  Communists  will  never  change 
it,  either,"  remarked  Mordaunt,  cynically.  "  Ah,  my 
dear  boy,  how  silly  it  is  of  you  to  take  all  the 
wrongs  of  mankind  on  those  not  too  broad  shoulders 
of  yours,  and  set  about  the  herculean  task  of  trying 
to  right  such  a  tangled  mess  as  this  world  presents  ! 
Here  we  are  in  the  city  of  Paris — the  loveliest  spot 
lhat  the  feet  of  civilized  man  is  permitted  to  tread. 
The  sky  above  our  heads  is  blue  ;  the  air  we  breathe 
K;  salubrious.  Thanks  to  one  of  those  despots  you 


IS   THB   PLACE   DK    L*   ETOILK.  15 

hate  so  much,  we  can  drive  along  a  hundred  broad 
avenues  or  through  a  score  of  boulevards,  well 
shaded,  well  paved,  well  lit  at  night — equipped,  in 
short,  with  everything  necessary  to  our  peace  and 
comfort.  With  his  beautiful  empress  Napoleon 
rests  in  his  palace  at  the  Tuilkries,  enjoying  the 
legitimate  results  of  his  daring  and  successful 
attempt  to  recoup  his  uncle's  throne  from  the 
Orleans  princes,  who,  like  their  cousins,  the  Bour- 
bons, hau  outlived  their  usefulness.  I  know  what 
you  are  going  to  say — that  he  took  the  throne,  not 
from  other  crowned  heads,  but  from  the  people,  at 
the  time  of  the  coup  d"  Mat.  I  will  admit  that  there 
was  a  little  irregularity  in  the  proceeding,  but,  as 
principalities  go,  eighteen  years  or  so  gives  a  very 
good  title.  He  is  at  any  rate  in  the  saddle,  and  if 
you  were  to  try  to  dispossess  him  you  would  not 
find  it  an  easy  thing.  Now  what  has  he  done  to 
deserve  his  place  ?  In  imitation  of  the  Roman 
emperor,  he  found  Paris  of  brick,  and  he  will  leave 
it  to  his  son  of  stone  ;  he  found  it  full  of  ramshackle 
lanes,  and  he  has  made  it  a  city  of  superb  distances. 
He  has  proved  his  capacity  to  govern  these  French- 
men much  better  than  they  could  govern  themselves. 
And  if  you  will  pardon  me  for  the  suggestion, 
speaking  to  you  as  to  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  it 
would  seem  much  more  becoming  in  you  to  thank- 
fully enjoy  the  treat  he  has  spread  out  than  to  growl 
at  everything  you  see,  like  a  caged  mastiff." 

Darrell  smiled  for  the  first  time. 

"I  never  supposed  I  was  deserving  of  such  a  com- 
parison as  that,"  he  said.  "  But,  seriously,  Harry, 
how  could  any  reform  be  brought  about  if  all  were 
to  follow  the  rule  you  lay  down  ?  How  could  Greece 
or  Switzerland  have  escaped  the  foreign  yoke,  how 


It  not  HOTBAMD'S 

could  the  American  colonies  have  become  a  nation, 
except  by  first  expressing  in  vigorous  language  the 
wrongs  under  which  they  suffered  ?  It  was  only 
after  the  people  had  been  aroused  by  those  who 
could  not  be  kept  silent,  that  they  put  their  enemies 
to  flight." 

Mordaunt  opened  his  blue  eyes  in  mock  astonish- 
ment 

"  Then  you  believe  in  war,  after  all !"  he  cried. 
M  You  do  think  it  proper  to  shed  your  brother's  blood, 
occasionally !" 

"  Without  doubt,"  was  the  immediate  rejoinder, 
N  when  freedom  is  the  issue.  If  that  arch  we  have 
just  left  had  been  reared  to  a  Washington,  a  Kos- 
ciusko  or  a  Garibaldi,  it  would  not  awake  my  con- 
tempt, though  Peace  has  produced  many  nobler 
names  than  either.  Don't  stare  at  me  like  that, 
Harry.  I  am  fully  aware  of  what  I  am  saying.  I 
have  sufficient  pride  in  the  name  of  the  Father  of  his 
Country,  who  was  much  more  than  a  great  soldier. 
But  I  maintain  that  Jenner  did  a  higher  service  for 
the  human  race  than  Washington.  When  Elias  Howe, 
in  his  attic  at  Cambridgeport,  discovered  the  way  to 
make  a  successful  sewing  machine,  he  achieved  a 
greater  thing  than  can  be  credited  to  Kossuth.  It  is 
not  the  fashion  to  enthuse  over  these  men.  It  is  not 
before  such  '  musty  old  grubbers '  that  the  world  falls 
in  speechless  adoration.  To  bring  out  the  real  enthu- 
siasm of  the  people,  you  need  a  general  whose  hands 
are  red  with  the  blood  of  a  hundred  thousand  hearts. 
Idiots  that  they  are  !  When  will  they  learn  that  the 
men  whom  they  deify  are  their  greatest  enemies  !" 

Most  of  the  beauties  of  the  drive  the  friends  were 
taking  were  lost  to  them  on  account  of  the  animated 
nature  of  their  argument,  but  at  this  moment  a  turn 


Or  THE   PLACE   DK    L*    ETOIL*.  17 

in  the  road  brought  them  opposite  to  a  particularly 
lovely  sheet  of  water,  and  they  were  compelled  to 
pause  for  a  moment  in  silent  admiration. 

"  It  has  just  occurred  to  me  what  it  is  that  actu- 
ates you  in  the  course  you  are  taking,"  said  Mor- 
daunt,  with  a  trace  of  mischief  in  his  eyes,  when  they 
had  passed  the  object  which  distracted  their  atten- 
tion. "  You  are  consumed  with  envy.  You  have  an 
intense  desire  to  see  your  own  name  emblazoned 
across  the  top  of  some  triumphal  arch  of  the  future, 
as  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  this  age. 
Not  being  a  soldier,  you  could  hope  only  for  the 
common  oblivion,  as  things  are  at  present  arranged. 
Under  the  system  you  advocate,  however,  the  inven- 
tion which  you  have  just  perfected,  and  for  which 
you  are  now  filing  caveats  in  Europe,  would  secure 
you  a  niche  in  one  of  your  arches  of  fame.  Yes,  you 
are  actuated  by  the  merest  selfishness,  after  all. 
With  your  high-flown  ideas,  you  are  really  no  batter 
than  the  rest  of  us." 

The  raillery  of  his  friend,  instead  of  causing 
merriment  in  Edmund  DarrelFs  face,  only  made  it 
grow  suddenly  graver. 

"  No,  Harry,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  the  least  desire 
for  posthumous  admiration.  I  do  not  wish  any  monu- 
ment to  record  my  name,  nor  what  I  have  succeeded 
in  accomplishing.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  feel  that 
I  have  made  a  discovery,  or  rather  a  new  application 
of  an  old  one,  that  will  lighten  the  labors  of  coming 
millions.  If  I  had  invented  a  mittrailleuse  or  a  new 
torpedo  that  wouM  destroy  twenty  men  where  the 
old  munitions  of  war  would  kill  but  one,  I  could  not 
take  equal  satisfaction.  Yet  it  is  the  Krupps  who 
wear  the  medals,  and  the  school-children  forget  the 


IS  HER    HUSBAND'S    FEIEKD. 

names  of  the  Pultons  and  the  Stephensons  almost  as 
soon  as  they  learn  them." 

Harold  Mordaunt  declined  to  become  serious,  no 
matter  how  great  the  provocation.  His  view  of 
life  was  to  extract  all  the  honey  there  was  in  it  and 
forget  the  stings  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  Is  there  anything  in  this  beautiful  Paris  that 
exactly  suits  you  ?"  he  asked,  with  delicate  irony. 

"Yes,"  replied  Darrell,  brightening.  "This  Bois, 
where  I  saw  yesterday  a  great  company  of  merry 
children  romping  in  all  the  abandon  of  unrestraint, 
as  they  are  never  allowed  to  romp  on  a  Sunday  in 
America.  I  am  delighted  with  this  broad  stretch  of 
land  and  water  and  forest,  just  at  the  door  of  that 
great  municipality,  where  nature  has  been  interfered 
with  as  little  as  possible  consistent  with  comfort, 
and  where  there  is  no  unreasonable  limit  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  poorest  ragamuffin  who  has  not 
one  foot  of  other  soil  where  he  can  woo  the  sweet 
repose  that  come  with  grass  and  trees  and  pure  air. 
This  park  is  to  me  all  admirable.  Within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  fortifications  that  are  a  continual 
reminder  of  a  long  and  causeless  quarrel,  the  poor 
laborer  or  the  little  men  and  women  of  the  future 
may  easily  imagine  themselves  in  the  heart  of  some 
country  district  a  hundred  miles  away.  The 
grown-up  Frenchman  knows  how  to  play — a  thing 
Americans  have  never  learned.  I  saw  here  yester- 
day hundreds  of  families,  from  the  eldest  son  or 
daughter  to  the  baby  who  had  not  yet  learned 
to  creep.  I  marked  how  easily  they  seemed  to  for- 
get their  troubles  and  abandon  themselves  to  the 
ecstacy  of  the  hour.  And  then  I  thought — how 
could  I  help  thinking — of  the  conscription  laws  that 
stand  ready  to  take  the  best  years  of  those  sons, 


IK  THE  PLAGE   DK   Lf   KTOIUk  If 

those  years  which  in  our  more  favored  land  are 
regarded  as  necessary  in  getting  a  start  in  the  real 
business  of  life.  In  a  worse  than  useless  service  he 
is  destined  to  pass  from  three  to  seven  years  of  his 
youth,  learning  to  kill  the  neighbors  he  ought  to 
cultivate  as  friends.  At  the  command  of  a  ruler 
whom  he  did  not  help  to  choose,  he  will  go  forth  to 
assail  men  who  never  injured  him  or  his,  giving  and 
taking  death-wounds  as  if  they  were  meritorious 
things.  The  mothers  and  the  wives  will  dim  their 
sad  eyes  with  weeping,  the  sisters  will  be  con- 
demned to  harder  toil  because  of  the  support  taken 
from  them  !  And  so  the  frightful,  ghastly  farce  will 
go  on,  until — " 

He  paused  so  long  that  his  companion  felt  it 
almost  necessary  to  prompt  him. 

"  '  Until,'  you  were  saying — " 

"  Until  some  great,  unselfish  soul  arises,  strong 
enough  to  teach  the  people  the  folly  of  which  they 
have  been  guilty  for  ages,  virtuous  enough  to  com- 
mand their  confidence  and  love,  and  brave  enough 
to  sacrifice  himself,  if  need  be,  to  emphasize  the 
lesson  he  has  taught." 

Mordaunt  assumed  an  air  of  conviction,  and  struck 
his  companion  lightly  on  the  shoulder  as  if  he  had 
just  thought  of  something  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  cried,  with  mock  enthusi- 
asm, "  you  are  the  very  man  !" 

"  I !"  exclaimed  Darrell,  starting. 

"  You,  certainly,"  was  the  reply,  still  couched  in 
an  assumed  tone  of  seriousness.  "  You  are  all  that 
you  describe — brave,  unselfish,  virtuous,  strong. 
Put  yourself  at  the  head  of  the  unorganized  rabble  of 
Paris,  and  lead  them  out  of  Egypt .'  Become  the 


10  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

leader  of  a  heroic  cause !  Earn  yourself  a  name 
among  the  gods  !  Throw  down  this  insignificant 
emperor  from  his  ill-acquired  throne.  Raze  to  the 
ground  the  marble  columns  and  the  brazen  images 
that  glorify  the  real  enemies  of  mankind,  and  rear 
others  in  their  places  to  the  fellows  who  invented 
spring  beds  and  Ayrshire  cows.  The  corn  is  ripe 
for  the  harvest,  oh  reaper  !  Put  in  your  sickle  and 
gather  the  golden  grain  !" 

Even  this  ridicule  failed  to  arouse  Darrell  from  the 
vein  into  which  he  had  fallen.  Fully  realizing  the 
ironical  nature  of  his  companion's  expressions,  he 
seemed  to  find  in  them,  nevertheless,  only  food  for 
serious  thought. 

"The  hour  cannot  be  far  away,"  he  said,  soberly, 
"  and  when  it  comes  the  Man  will  be  found,  as  he 
has  always  been  in  the  past.  I  am  not  equal  to  the 
leadership — would  to  Heaven  I  were  ! — but  I  will 
fight  as  best  I  can  in  the  ranks  when  the  time  for 
action  is  upon  us." 

Mordaunt  looked  alarmed.  He  could  not  doubt 
the  perfect  sincerity  of  his  friend,  and  he  thought  it 
time  to  try  a  more  serious  vein. 

"  Edmund  Darrell,"  he  said,  sharply,  "  what  do  you 
mean  ?  Are  you  so  far  gone  in  this  insanity  that 
you  would  actually  enroll  yourself  with  the  Paris 
canaille,  if  they  attempted  an  outbreak  ?  Do  you 
contemplate  the  pleasure  of  standing  behind  barri- 
cades, with  a  lot  of  crazy  blouse-wearers,  to  be 
mowed  down  by  the  emperor's  cannon,  or  taken, 
when  the  emute  is  over,  to  the  scaffold  ?  Thank 
God,  Napoleon  is  too  shrewd  to  allow  you  the 
chance  !  But  if  the  rabble  should  ever  catch  him 
asleep  long  enough  to  attempt  a  rising,  would  you 
cast  i»  your  lot  with  them?  Is  that  what  you 


BTOILE.  21 

mean  ?  Zounds,  man  !  It  is  time  somebody  talked 
sense  to  you  !" 

Edmund  Darrell,  quite  unruffled,  raised  his 
thoughtful  eyes  to  the  face  of  his  companion. 

"  You  will  see,"  he  said,  simply. 

He  could  not,  had  he  used  a  thousand  words,  have 
made  a  more  convincing  reply.  Mordaunt  responded 
with  a  look  of  disgust,  and  relapsed  into  silence  for 
several  minutes.  When  he  spoke  next  it  was  only  to 
direct  the  cabman  to  leave  the  Bois  by  the  Porte 
Maillot  and  resume  his  way  back  toward  the  interior 
of  the  city. 

"  It  is  exasperating,"  he  broke  out,  some  time 
later,  as  the  carriage  entered  the  Champs  Elys6es, 
"  to  hear  a  fellow  of  your  natural  common  sense  talk 
as  you  do.  You  are  gifted  with  brains  enough  to 
revolutionize  an  important  industry  by  a  wonderful 
improvement,  and  yet  you  must  needs  wish  to  throw 
a  magnificently  governed  empire  into  chaos.  What 
gang  of  Anarchists  would  ever  have  laid  out  a  beau- 
tiful roadway  like  this  one,  walled  the  Seine  down 
>;here  and  spanned  it  with  bridges,  filled  a  Louvre 
with  statues  and  paintings,  or  carried  to  a  successful 
close  an  exposition  like  that  held  here  three 
years  ago  ?  If  the  day  of  your  Communists  ever 
comes  the  people  may  thank  their  lucky  stars  that  a 
monarchy  preceded  it.  You  have  only  to  look  down 
this  avenue  to  see  the  Place  de  la  Concorde — then 
called  the  Place  de  la  Guillotine — where  your  direct 
predecessors  of  the  last  century  set  up  a  knife  and 
kept  it  gory  for  months  with  the  blood  of  young  and 
old,  men  and  women,  innocent  and  guilty  alike.  Is 
it  not  a  pleasant  picture  to  recall  !  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  bring  it  back  again  ?" 

A  look  of  deep  pain  crossed  Darrell's  face. 


i2  HEU  HUSBAND'S  FBIEND. 

"  Think  of  the  provocation  those  men  had,"  h« 
replied.  "  Remember  the  centuries  during  which 
they  had  been  treated  worse  than  beasts  by  their 
dainty  aristocracy.  Read  once  more  the  '  Tale  of 
Two  Cities.'  You  call  the  poor  of  Paris  '  canaille  ;' 
but  you  must  not  expect  to  starve,  beat  and  irritate 
even  dogs  forever,  without  counting  on  retaliation. 
One  would  think  that  the  ruling  classes  might  have 
learned  something  by  that  retributive  flood,  but  it 
appears  otherwise." 

Mordaunt  had  also  grown  serious,  and  the  answer 
he  made  was  very  unlike  that  which  his  ordinary 
good-nature  would  have  promoted. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  have  learned  something,"  he  said, 
between  his  teeth.  "  These  long,  straight  avenues 
and  boulevards  show  that  they  learned  something, 
though  I  admit  the  lesson  was  acquired  slowly.  It 
is  no  longer  the  easy  thing  it  once  was  to  barricade 
the  streets  of  Paris.  Galling  guns  would  mow  down 
would-be  mutineers  like  stubble  before  flame.  Artil- 
lery planted  in  a  spot  like  that  of  L'  Etoile  would 
clear  the  streets  for  miles.  They  call  the  emperor 
in  derision  '  Napoleon  the  Little  ;'  history  will  sub- 
stitute for  that  the  appellation  of  '  the  Wise.'  For 
eighteen  years  France  has  prospered.  Most  of  that 
time  she  has  been  at  peace  with  other  nations,  and 
she  has  won  only  glory  in  the  contests  which  make 
an  exception  to  the  rule.  Her  present  tranquility  is 
due  to  the  far-seeing  diplomacy  of  the  man  you  affect 
to  despise.  Que  voulez  vous  f  You  claim  to  hate  war 
and  to  favor  progress.  How  can  you  without  incon- 
sistency desire  the  overthrow  of  a  ruler  who  has 
done  so  much  for  his  people  ?  If  you  must  have  a 
row,  why  not  go  to  Russia,  where  there  is  at  least  a 
pretext  for  your  interference  !  Why  do  you  wish  to 


IN   TH£   FLAGS   DB   L'    BTOILE.  SS 

spoil  this  lovely  city,  just  after  it  has  been  put  in 
perfect  order  by  good  Baron  Haussmann  ?" 

It  was  impossible  for  Harold  Mordaunt  to  main- 
tain for  any  great  length  of  time  a  thoroughly  serious 
mien,  and  toward  the  end  of  his  remarks  he  dropped 
again  into  his  natural  jocosity. 

"  You  have  asked  a  good  many  questions,"  replied 
Darrell,  "  and  I  will  answer  the  last  one  first.  We 
purpose  trying  revolution  on  the  French  at  this  time 
because  they  are  much  more  nearly  ripe  for  a  change 
than  the  Russians.  They  are  natural  politicians. 
They  discuss  things  ;  they  read  the  newspapers ; 
they  are  acquainted  with  their  own  history.  They 
know  they  have  dictated  terms,  and  that  they  can  do 
it  again  at  the  right  tiroe." 

"  Yes,  and  this  'despotic'  Napoleon  lets  them  talk 
on,  and  print  their  treasonable  articles,  and  hold 
their  meetings,  instead  of  transporting  the  whole  lot 
to  some  French  Siberia,  as  he  ought  to  do,"  inter- 
posed Mordaunt.  "  To  be  sure,  he  occasionally  sup- 
presses a  journal  that  gets  too  outrageous,  or 
invites  an  especially  seditious  maker  of  speeches 
to  favor  foreign  parts  with  his  presence,  but  in  most 
cases  his  enemies  are  left  at  liberty  to  drink  to  his 
discomfiture  as  often  as  they  please.  And  thus  they 
go  on,  swallowing  treason  with  their  coffee,  and 
buttering  their  bread  with  maledictions  against  the 
best  government  they  ever  had." 

"  It  is  the  only  kind  of  butter  most  of  them  can 
afford,"  said  Darrell,  smiling.  "Jacques  Bonhomme 
is  not  able  to  have  many  luxuries,  you  know." 

"Jacques  Bonhomme  !"  cried  the  other.  "Jacques 
Mauvaishomme,  rather  !  He  is  a  surly,  skulking 
fellow,  who  dares  look  no  man  squarely  in  the  face 
and  is  never  satisfied  with  anything.  No  govern- 


24  HEE  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

ment  could  make  an  open-hearted,  honest  man  of 
him.  He  is  always  a  guerrilla,  never  a  foe  to  excite 
admiration.  Butter!  What  does  he  want  of  but- 
ter ?  Brandy  is  his  meat  and  cafe  au  rhum  is  his 
drink.  I  tell  you  if  Napoleon  ever  finds  himself 
compelled  to  cope  with  these  wretches  he  may 
blame  the  too  lenient  policy  he  is  pursuing.  But  here 
we  are  at  the  hotel,  and  what  ought  to  have  been  a 
delightful  drive  has  been  quite  spoiled  by  your 
senseless  arguments." 

The  two  friends  smiled  into  each  other's  faces  in 
a  way  that  seemed  to  imply  that  it  would  take  much 
more  than  a  difference  in  political  belief  to  strain 
their  warm  relations.  As  they  passed  up  the  hotel 
steps  together,  Darrell  linked  his  arm  in  that  of 
Mordaunt. 

"I  am  sorry,  Harry,"  he  said,  in  a  more  than 
brotherly  way,  "  if  I  have  spoiled  the  afternoon  for 
you.  I  fear  I  am  becoming  a  very  disagreeable 
companion.  Several  times  lately  I  have  solemnly 
resolved  not  to  inflict  my  theories  on  you — where 
they  are  so  evidently  wasted — but  each  time  some- 
thing has  occurred  to  arouse  my  indignation. 
To-day  it  was  the  Arch  of  Triumph.  Saturday  it 
was  the  emperor  reviewing  his  troops.  To-morrow 
it  will  be  something  else.  Unless  you  are  willing  to 
risk  a  repetition  of  the  same  thing  at  unpleasant 
intervals,  we  must  decide  to  make  our  other  tours 
about  the  city  separately." 

Mordaunt  laughed  merrily. 

"  We  will  try  it  a  little  longer,  I  think,"  he  said, 
"before  we  resort  to  such  a  heroic  measure.  I  despair 
of  converting  you  to  anything  at  all  reasonable,  but 
perhaps  we  can  reach  some  plane  of  mutual  forbear- 
ance. We  might  agree  to  make  only  mental 


W  THE  PLAOB  DE   L*   ETOILB.  26 

comments  where  there  is  the  least  possibility  of  a 

difference  of  opinion." 

Thus  chatting  they  walked  up  the  stairs  to  their 
several  rooms,  at  the  doors  of  which  they  parted  to 
prepare  for  dinner.  Half  an  hour  later  they  met 
again,  and  proceeded  to  the  large  dining-room, 
where  they  took  cosy  seats  in  a  corner  that  had  a 
window  from  which  they  could  look  out  upon  the 
public  street. 

"  There  is  one  thing  we  can  never  differ  about,  at 
least,"  said  Mordaunt,  as  he  finished  the  soup.  "  Tht 
French  are  the  best  cooks  in  the  world,  and  their 
wines  are  unexcelled  in  quality."  As  he  spoke 
he  filled  his  glass  and  raised  it.  "  I  am  going  to 
propose  a  toast,  though  I  know  I  shall  have  to  drink 
it  alone.  '  To  Napoleon  III.,  Emperor  of  the  French  ; 
may  his  reign  be  long  and  glorious  ! '  " 

A  street  band  broke  in  upon  the  speaker  with  a 
somewhat  discordant  rendering  of  the  Marseillaise 
Hymn.  Darrell  smiled  significantly  as  he  noted  it, 
and,  filling  his  own  glass,  he  rose  reverently  in  his 
place. 

"'To  the  French  nation  !'"  he  said,  in  a  voice  dis. 
tinct  enough  to  be  heard  in  any  part  of  the  room. 
"  '  May  it  soon  cast  off  its  royal  trappings,  and  govern 
itself  as  a  great  Communistic  Republic  !' " 

Perhaps  there  was  no  royalist  present  who  under- 
stood the  language  in  which  these  words  were  spoken. 
Perhaps  the  proverbial  willingness  of  Frenchmen  to 
allow  their  fellowmen  to  eat  and  drink  what  they 
please,  even  to  treasonable  toasts,  may  have  influ- 
enced some  who  understood  and  said  nothing. 

Be  that  as  it  may.  no  one  paid  the  least  attention. 
The  two  Americans  resumed  their  dinner,  and  were 
soon  chatting  on  other  subjects  as  if  there  had 


96  BBS   HUSBAtfD'8   FJilfiMD. 

never  been  one  on  which  their  sentiments  were  so 

diametrically  opposite.  They  would  have  laughed 
that  day  had  any  one  predicted  that  they  could  ever 
seriously  quarrel. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   MODERN    ARCADIA- 

In  the  town  of  Auburn,  in  the  State  of  Massachu- 
setts— not  the  Auburn  on  the  maps  of  to-day,  but  a 
quite  different  one,  now  called  by  another  name— 
a  pleasant  dwelling  stood,  like  Longfellow's,  "  some- 
what back  from  the  village  street,"  in  four  or  five 
acres  of  land  reserved  for  the  exclusive  use  of  its 
occupants.  The  house  was  at  least  fifty  years  old, 
as  the  style  of  its  architecture  showed,  but  there  had 
been  many  "modern  improvements"  added  since  it 
came  into  the  possession  of  its  present  owner,  that 
greatly  increased  its  comfort  according  to  the 
notions  of  the  present  day.  The  single  piazza  had 
been  extended  till  it  enclosed  three  sides  of  the  edi- 
fice. Several  bay  windows  of  tasty  appearance 
improved  the  view  of  the  inmates,  and  lent  a  piquancy 
to  the  exterior  of  the  edifice.  Inside,  the  rooms  were 
large,  as  was  the  fashion  of  our  ancestors,  and  the 
studding  was  not  too  high  for  easy  warming  in  win- 
ter. Stairs  ascended  occasionally  in  unexpected 
localities,  and  single  steps  were  found  where  no 
reason  could  be  assigned  for  the  sudden  change  in 
levels.  There  was  no  gas,  for  Auburn  had  not 
thought  **  necessary  to  indulge  in  this  luxury  in  any 


A  MODERN  ABCAMA.  IT 

part  of  her  dominions.  Neither  was  there  running 
water  from  street  mains,  for  a  similar  reason.  But 
there  were  many  agreeable  looking  hanging-lamps  ; 
and  a  cistern  in  the  attic,  supplied  by  a  force-pump, 
allowed  hot  and  cold  water  in  the  kitchen  and  bath- 
room, to  the  undisguised  admiration  of  all  the 
Auburnites  who  had  been  permitted  to  witness  its 
workings.  The  chimneys  were  as  large  as  any  anti- 
quarian could  desire,  and  the  window-panes  as  small 
as  any  devotee  of  Queen  Anne  could  ask.  The  furni- 
ture was  a  mixture  of  old  and  new  styles,  and  an  air 
of  ease,  quite  different  from  that  of  many  country 
homes,  pervaded  the  entire  establishment. 

The  grounds  were  divided  between  lawn  and  gar- 
den, with  a  little  grove  of  pines  on  one  side  of  the 
buildings,  left  nearly  in  their  natural  state.  If  any 
resident  of  the  town  had  been  asked  off-hand  to  name 
the  most  attractive  home  in  it,  he  would  have 
answered  without  hesitation,  "  The  Darrell  place." 

On  the  particular  day  when  the  reader  is  intro- 
duced to  this  residence — and,  by  a  queer  coincidence, 
it  happened  to  be  that  same  day  in  June,  1870,  when 
Edmund  Darrell  and  his  friend  discussed  the  Arch 
of  Triumph  and  Communism  in  the  Place  de 
1'  Etoile,  three  thousand  miles  away — there  was  a 
distinct  ripple  of  excitement  in  the  Darrell  house- 
hold. Tom  Crowell,  the  half-grown  bov  who  did 
the  errands  and  general  out-door  work  on  the  place, 
had  just  arrived  from  the  post-office,  bearing  a 
letter  with  a  foreign  post-mark.  A  bright-faced, 
rosy-cheeked  young  woman,  perhaps  twenty-six 
years  of  age,  had  been  watching  eagerly  for  hii 
coming,  had  discerned  the  missive  which  he  held 
aloft,  and  had  run  beyond  the  gate  in  the  mo»t 
undignified  manner  to  meet  him. 


HUSBAND'S  FRIBKD. 

Snatching  the  letter  from  the  lad's  hand,  she  tore 
it  open  and  devoured  its  contents  on  the  spot, 
leaning  against  one  of  the  tall  trees  that  bordered 
Ihe  walk,  the  better  to  concentrate  her  whole  atten- 
tion upon  the  note.  She  was  of  a  little  more  than 
the  usual  height,  and  of  a  most  exquisite  form: 
neither  too  slender  nor  too  stout.  The  most  notice- 
able thing  about  her  was  her  eyes,  which  were  rather 
large,  being  brown  in  color,  and  shaded  by  very 
long  lashes.  Her  hair  was  drawn  back  in  what  we 
learned  many  years  later  to  call  a  "  Langtry  knot." 
Dressed  in  a  becoming  light  robe,  bound  about  her 
waist  with  a  cord,  and  cut  low  enough  at  the  neck 
to  display  the  outlines  of  a  handsome  throat,  she 
made  a  pretty  picture  as  she  turned  the  leaves  and 
read  the  not  very  long  epistle. 

Arriving  at  the  signature,  she  suddenly  kissed  it 
with  a  delicious  abandon,  totally  ignoring  the  pres- 
ence of  Tom  Crowell,  who  still  lingered  in  the 
vicinity.  It  was  the  unconstrained  action  ot  a 
woman  who  loves,  and  no  stranger  who  witnessed 
it  could  have  doubted  that  the  writer  was  to  her  the 
dearest  person  on  earth. 

For  several  minutes  the  picturesque  figure  re- 
mained leaning  against  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  like  a 
lovely  statue,  with  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  her 
eyes  on  the  ground  in  deep  meditation.  But  though 
the  gaze  was  apparently  fixed  upon  the  grass  at  her 
feet,  the  thoughts  behind  it  were  much  further 
away.  A  rapturous  smile  played  about  the  ripe 
lips,  and  an  escaping  lock  of  hair  hung  low  over  her 
forehead. 

"I  hope  Mr.  DarreH's  well,  ma'am,"  said  Tom 
Crowell,  at  last,  despairing  of  finding  any  other  way 
to  attract  bis  mistress's  attention. 


A  MODERN  ABCADIA.  29 

The  lady  looked  up  radiantly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  Tom.  He  is  very  well 
indeed,  and  he  asks  to  be  remembered  to  all  of 
you."  , 

The  boy's  face  bore  a  pleased  grin,  as  he  shambled 
off  to  tell  the  news  to  the  other  servants,  and  the 
lady  slowly  moved  toward  the  house.  But  before 
she  reached  the  door  a  rush  was  heard,  and  two 
little  girls,  aged  seven  and  three,  came  tearing  down 
upon  her. 

"  Mamma  !  Mamma  !'*  cried  the  elder,  in  a  state 
of  great  excitement.  "Read  us  the  letter  from 
papa  !" 

Mrs.  Darrell  stooped  first  to  kiss  the  little  faces, 
and  then  threw  herself  upon  the  ground  under  one 
of  the  tall  pines,  and  read  to  them  extracts  from  the 
letter.  The  younger  child,  who  had  only  run 
because  her  sister  did,  began  to  look  somewhat 
bored,  but  the  other  seemed  aroused  to  ecstacy  by 
every  word.  When  the  reading  was  finished,  she 
begged  as  a  great  favor  to  be  allowed  to  hold  the 
epistle  in  her  own  hands,  and  to  touch  with  her  fin- 
gers the  dear  characters  that  her  father  had  penned. 

"  See,  Ethel,"  she  said  to  her  sister,  putting  one 
arm  around  the  little  one's  waist.  "  This  is  a  letter 
that  our  darling  papa  wrote  with  his  own  hand  !  Do 
you  see,  at  the  end,  his  name  ?  I  can  read  it — 
'Edmund  Darrell.'  That's  what  it  says,  isn't  i% 
mamma  ?  Our  papa,  Ethel,  who  is  in  Europe,  away 
over  the  big  sea.  To  think  that  he  remembered  us 
from  that  long  way  off  !  And  to  know,  by  a  letter 
that  he  wrote  himself,  that  he  is  well  and  happy  !" 

The  little  sister  did  not  seem  as  much  impressed 
as  the  elder  thought  she  should  be,  an  i  an  appeal 


30  EBB    HUSBAND'S    FRIESTD. 

was  made  to  the  mother  to  impress  upon  her  infan 
tile  mind  a  sense  of  the  importance  of  the  occasion. 

Mrs.  Darrell  took  both  the  children  in  her  arms. 

"You  must  remember,  Alice,"  she  said,  sweetly, 
"that  Ethel  is  not  as  old  as  you." 

Then  she  noticed  that  her  unappreciative  young' 
est  was  putting  one  end  of  the  letter  into  her  mouth, 
and  she  rescued  it  with  a  little  scream. 

"  Would  you  destroy  papa's  letter  ?"  she  asked,  in 
a  tone  of  some  severity.  "  The  letter  that  dear  papa 
sent  us  from  so  far  over  the  ocean  !  I  am  ashamed 
of  you  \" 

The  expression  on  the  little  face  was  something 
very  like  defiance,  as  Miss  Ethel  realized  that  she 
was  being  scolded. 

"  Me  don't  know  any  papa,"  was  the  unexpected 
reply  of  the  midget. 

"  Don't  know  papa !"  repeated  the  mother,  in 
accents  of  mingled  horror  and  astonishment. 

"  Of  course  she  doesn't !     How  could  she  ?" 

The  latter  words  were  spoken  by  a  tall,  slender 
woman  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  who  had 
entered  at  the  gate  unperceived  by  the  little  group 
under  the  tree,  and  now  stood  several  feet  away, 
looking  down  upon  them  with  no  very  pleasant 
expression  of  countenance.  She  had  the  unmistak- 
able air  of  the  "  superfluous  woman,"  the  gaunt  and 
icy  appearance  of  the  typical  New  England  "  old 
maid."  Her  garments  were  as  sombre  as  her  face, 
and  she  leaned  for  support  upon  a  stout  cane  which 
added  to  the  general  weirdness  of  her  aspect. 

"  Of  course  the  child  doesn't  know  her  father," 
repeated  the  apparition.  "  How  is  it  possible  that 
•he  should  ever  have  become  acquainted  with 


A   MODERN    ARCADIA.  31 

"  Aunt  Mettie,"  said  Mrs.  Darrell,  warningly, 
"remember  that  little  ears  may  hear  you  !" 

The  mother,  as  she  said  this,  rose  to  her  feet.  All 
the  brightness  that  had  illumined  her  countenance 
had  suddenly  gone  out  of  it. 

"  The  truth  should  hurt  nobody,"  retorted  the 
slender  female.  "  Neither  of  Edmund  Darrell's 
children  have  ever  seen  him  often  enough  to 
recognize  his  face.  I  doubt  if  they  would  be  able 
to  name  him  if  he  met  them  unexpectedly  in  the 
street.  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Anna.  You  know 
it  is  so." 

Mrs.  Darrell  bit  her  lip.  She  realized  fully  the 
impossibility  of  muzzling  her  aunt's  tongue.  She 
stooped  to  kiss  the  little  ones,  and  to  tell  Alice  to 
take  her  sister  away  to  play.  But  the  elder  child 
had  heard  enough  to  arouse  her  indignation,  and  she 
stepped  angrily  before  her  great-aunt. 

"  You  shall  not  say  such  naughty  things  about  my 
papa  !"  she  cried,  stamping  her  little  foot.  "  I  love 
him.  Ethel  loves  him.  Mamma  loves  him.  You 
are  a  bad  woman,  that  nobody  loves.  Why  do  you 
come  here  ?" 

"  Alice  !"  called  the  mother. 

"  Oh,  let  her  go  on,"  said  Miss  Mehitable  Burton. 
"  Lee  her  go  on.  She  is  her  father  all  over."  Then 
she  turned  to  the  child.  "  You  need  not  be  such  a 
little  spitfire  !  How  can  you  tell  whether  you  love 
your  father  or  not,  when  you  never  see  him  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrell  was  in  a  quandary.  She  had  been 
brought  up  in  that  school  where  respect  for  elders  is 
inculcated  almost  like  a  religion.  Her  Aunt  Burton 
had  an  especial  claim  on  her  patience.  When  her 
mother  had  left  her  an  orphan,  a  dozen  years  before, 
this  odd  woman  had  supplied  to  the  best  oi  her 


32  HSB   HUSBAWD'a   FBUBXO, 

ability  the  place  of  that  parent,  and  for  the  next  tow 

years  she  had  lived  under  her  aunt's  roof.  But  she 
was  distressed  beyond  measure  at  the  controversy 
now  in  progress,  for  she  dreaded  its  effect  on  her 
excitable  child,  as  well  as  the  suspicion  it  was  likely 
to  arouse  in  the  young  mind.  For  a  few  moments 
she  stood  there,  uncertain  what  it  was  wisest  to  do  or 
say. 

"  It  is  not  true  !"  cried  Alice,  taking  a  step  nearer 
to  Miss  Burton,  and  assuming  a  threatening  attitude. 
"  We  do  see  papa !  He  comes  whenever  he  can,  and 
besides  we  have  his  picture  in  the  parlor.  He  writes 
nice  letters  to  mamma,  too.  She  got  one  only  this 
morning.  Does  any  one  ever  write  letters  to  you  t 
He  has  gone  to  France  to  do  some  business  that  is 
necessary.  You  shall  not  talk  about  him  !  I  will 
not  stay  to  hear  you  !" 

The  spinster  looked  down  with  contempt  on  the 
small  advocate. 

"  Your  father's  steamer  sailed  six  weeks  ago,"  she 
sneered,  "  and  you  have  just  got  your  first  letter  ! 
Well,  well !  He  must  be  very  fond  of  you  !" 

Again  the  young  champion  took  up  the  gauntlet. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  the  sea  ?"  she 
demanded,  in  a  fury.  "  It  takes  nine  or  ten  days  to 
cross  it  in  a  steamer.  My  mamma  told  me  so.  Do 
you  think  he  could  get  out  and  mail  a  letter  in  the 
water  ?  Then,  when  he  got  there,  he  had  a  great 
deal  to  do.  And,  when  he  wrote,  it  took  another  ten 
days  for  the  letter  to  get  here.  You  hate  my  papa, 
and  are  always  saying  ugly  things  about  him.  If  I 
was  mamma  I  wouldn't  let  you  come  here — ever  f 

With  this  parting  shot,  uttered  in  a  voice  that  was 
choking  with  tears,  she  ran  into  the  house,  dragging 
Ethel  after  h«r,  and  slanuned  the  door. 


1   MODERN    ARCADIA.  33 

The  two  women  followed  the  vanishing  children 
with  their  eyes  until  they  disappeared,  and  then 
they  looked  at  each  other. 

"Well,  Anna  Burton  Darrell,"  said  the  elder 
sharply,  "  has  it  gone  so  far  that  you  hesitate  whether 
to  ask  me  to  enter  your  house  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  was  the  reply.  "  But  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  distressed  I  am  that  you  should  have  spoken  as 
you  did  before  Alice.  If  you  had  come  here  with  a 
purpose  to  inflict  the  greatest  pain  upon  me,  you 
could  not  have  hit  upon  a  more  successful  way." 

Miss  Burton  sniffed  the  air  contemptuously. 

"  They  must  find  it  out,  sooner  or  later.  What 
advantage  will  it  be  to  bring  them  up  in  deceit  ?" 

Anna  Darrell  flushed  suddenly. 

"  But  you  are  quite  wrong,  aunt,  as  I  have  s& 
often  told  you.  Edmund  is  very  dear  to  us  all.  He 
loves  his  family — yes,  I  am  sure  of  it — and  does 
what  he  thinks  is  right.  At  present  he  is  abroad, 
getting  patents  on  his  inventions.  He  wants  to 
Make  a  fortune,  and  it  is  as  much  for  us  as  for  him- 
self, for  I  am  sure  he  denies  us  nothing,  and  his 
personal  habits  are  not  extravagant.  You  know  he 
bought  me  this  home,  putting  the  deed  in  my  name, 
and  how  much  he  has  spent  upon  it,  until  it  is  the 
most  desirable  residence  in  Auburn.  I  have  plenty 
of  help,  a  pony  to  drive,  a  cow  for  the  children, 
chickens  to  lay  us  fresh  eggs,  and  all  the  money  I 
could  possibly  find  use  for.  And  yet  you  will  per- 
sist, on  account  of  a  dislike  for  which  you  have  no 
real  reason,  in  saying  harsh  things  of  my  husband. 
As  long  as  you  only  say  them  to  me,  I  can  bear  it, 
for  I  know  how  unjust  they  are,  but  you  must  not 
talk  again  before  Alice  a?  you  did  to-day,  i  really 
*annot  bear  it," 


34  HEE  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Miss  Burton  leaned  heavily  upon  the  cane  she 
carried,  and  her  eyes  shone. 

"  I  suppose  that  means  that  you  will  refuse  to 
receive  your  father's  only  sister,"  she  said,  viciously. 

"  Not  yet,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  surely  cannot  be 
necessary  for  you  to  say  things  that  excite  my  chil- 
dren to  such  anger  as  Alice  exhibited  just  now.  I 
never  saw  her  in  such  a  fit,  and  it  is  not  true  that  she 
inherits  a  bad  temper  from  her  father,  for  no  one 
ever  heard  him  use  even  an  impatient  word.  I  do 
not  want  you  to  cease  coming,  and  if  there  is  no  other 
way  to  arrange  it,  I  will  see  that  the  children  are 
kept  in  another  part  of  the  house  when  you  are 
here." 

The  sourness  of  disposition  which  had  become  an 
integral  part  of  the  old  maid,  could  not  be  kept  from 
the  surface. 

**  I  don't  think  you  want  me  to  come,"  she  said,  as 
they  entered  the  parlor,  where  she  took,  neverthe- 
less, a  seat  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  chairs,  and  sat 
as  bolt  upright  as  any  ramrod.  "  Be  frank,  niece. 
Say  the  word,  and  I  promise  not  to  trouble  you  with 
my  presence  again." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  never  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Darrell. 
44 1  am  under  great  obligations  to  you  for  the  kind 
care  you  gave  me  when  I  was  left  without  protectors. 
I  cannot  forget  what  you  did  for  me  as  a  child.  But, 
aunt,  I  am  now  a  wife  and  a  mother.  I  feel  a  sort  of 
guilt  to  have  permitted  my  child  to  listen  to  such 
words  about  her  father  as  you  have  more  than  once 
used  in  her  presence.  This  morning  it  was  worse 
than  usual,  and  I  cannot  endure  it." 

In  spite  of  the  firmness  of  her  tone,  tears  filled  her 
eyes.  The  dilemma  presented  to  her  was  a  very  sad 
we  to  the  girl,  for  she  had  no  intimate  friendships 


A   MODERN    ABCADI4.  35 

outside  the  narrow  circle  of  her  relations,  consisting 
solely  of  Miss  Burton  and  the  spinster's  bachelor 
brother,  Ephraim. 

"You  are  a  Burton,  and  you  ought  to  have  some 
?ense,"  responded  the  aunt,  more  kindly.  "  Had 
you  begun  right  with  that  man  you  could  have  taught 
him  his  duty,  but  now  I  fear  it  is  too  late.  It  may  be 
necessary  for  him  to  travel  as  much  as  he  does, 
though  to  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  believe  it.  But,  if  you 
are  his  wife,  he  could  sometimes  take  you  with  him. 
What  is  the  matter?  Is  he  ashamed  of  you  ?  He 
could  hardly  treat  you  with  less  respect  if  you 
were — " 

A  sudden  gleam  in  the  eyes  of  her  niece  warned 
her  that  she  might  go  too  far  in  this  direction. 

"  I  tell  you  again  that  I  am  satisfied,  and  I  cannot 
see  why  you  should  trouble  yourself  so  much." 

"  You  are  satisfied  !"  repeated  Miss  Burton.  "  Do 
you  think  you  can  make  any  one  believe  that? 
What  sort  of  a  married  life  is  it  that  you  lead  ?  He 
is  gone  months  at  a  time.  He  tells  you  whatever 
story  he  pleases,  and  you  swallow  it." 

"  I  love  him  and  trust  him,"  said  the  wife,  proudly. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  was  the  sharp  reply.  "You  do 
not  know  what  he  is  doing  these  long  months 
that  you  never  set  eyes  on  him." 

Mrs.  Darrell  reddened,  but  she  did  not  wince. 

"  I  understand  your  insinuations,"  she  answered, 
"and  I  repel  them  absolutely." 

Miss  Burton  leaned  toward  her,  and  spoke  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  If  I  could  show  you — "  she  began. 

"You  cannot — you  know  you  cannot!"  cried  the 
wife,  greatly  roused.  "  It  is  cruel  of  you  to  make 


eW  KKB  miMnA  bfflrft  FOTBlk 

such  statements.     I  cannot  listen  to  them, 
you  must  excuse  me." 

For  the  first  time  in  all  their  acquaintance,  she 
vacated  the  room,  overcome  by  her  feelings,  and 
Miss  Burton  had  the  pleasure  of  escorting  herself 
to  the  door. 

But  the  seed — the  cursed,  imperceptible,  prolific 
Seed  of  suspicion  had  been  planted  ;  and  it  was  to 
grow  until  its  always  bitter  fruit  should  load  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  tree  ! 


CHAPTER    HI. 

"WAS  IT  FOR   THIS  YOU   MARRIED?* 

Miss  Mehitable  Burton  was  a  well  known  figure  in 
Auburn,  and  her  brother  Ephraim  was  hardly  a  less 
one.  Together  for  nearly  forty  years  the  couple — • 
both  hopeless  wanderers  from  matrimonial  felicity 
—had  lived  under  the  same  roof,  attended  the  same 
church,  held  the  same  opinions,  eaten  the  same  food. 
It  was  generally  understood  in  Auburn  that  Miss 
Burton  was  the  "  man  of  the  house,"  as  the  term 
was  used,  and  that  her  brother  was  nothing  more 
than  her  shadow,  executing  her  orders  as  if  he  were 
a  hired  man  instead  of  the  real  owner  of  record  of 
all  the  property  they  enjoyed  in  common.  When 
their  father  died  he  willed  every  penny  of  his  estate 
tfC  :.ally  to  his  two  sons,  leaving  it  to  them  to  pro- 
vide for  the  solitary  daughter,  if  they  might  choose 
to  do  SO.  The  younger  b^u,  Anna's  father,  took  his 
ptrt  ef  the  money  to  the  city,  invested  '.tin  business, 


"WU  It  70ft  THIS  YOU  MABBMD?"  87 

made  quite  a  name  for  a  few  years,  and  then  saw 
everything  swept  away  in  one  of  those  financial 
crashes  that  come  periodically  to  clear  the  monetary 
horizon,  as  cyclones  do  to  clear  the  atmosphere  of 
the  Western  States.  He  returned  to  Auburn  one 
day  and  announced  to  his  sister — for  even  then  it 
was  recognized  that  Ephraim  only  did  as  she  bade 
him — that  he  had  sunk  his  capital  and  wanted  to 
raise  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  with  which  to 
recover  his  position.  Tradition  had  it  that  when 
she  refused  to  risk  the  amount,  he  went  back  with 
his  heart  broken,  and  only  lived  six  months.  His 
young  widow  struggled  along  on  the  proceeds  of  a 
small  life  insurance  policy  for  a  few  years,  and  then 
she,  too,  gave  up  the  fight.  Anna  was  ten  years  of 
age  when  her  Aunt  Mettie  took  her  to  her  solemn 
home  in  Auburn,  where  the  stillness  and  the  absence 
of  other  young  people  bore  heavily  upon  her  naturally 
buoyant  spirits. 

Miss  Burton  was  now,  according  to  the  Auburn 
standard,  a  rich  woman,  always  remembering  that 
she  had  not  a  single  penny's  worth  of  property 
standing  in  her  own  name.  Ephraim  Burton  was 
supposed  to  be  worth  rising  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  carefully  invested  in  securities  of  unques- 
tioned solidity.  He  always  demanded  the  full 
pound  of  flesh  that  was  stipulated  in  his  carefully 
drawn  bonds,  and  if  a  little  extra  flowage  of  blood 
resulted,  surely  that  was  the  fault  of  the  improvi- 
dent men  who  did  not  know  enough  to  manage  their 
affairs  successfully.  He  was  a  gentle,  harmless  sort 
of  octopus,  without  the  least  ill  feeling  for  any  per- 
son in  the  world,  but  who  had  certain  business  ideas 
not  wholly  peculiar  to  himself,  which  were  wholly 
opposed  to  anything  like  extensions  of  time  o« 


88  WEB   HTJRBV  ID'S  TKOSKIt. 

notes,  or  mercy  to  needy  debtors  in  any  other  fcK3l». 
He  cultivated,  of  the  acres  he  owned,  only  a  little 
garden  that  supplied  his  table  with  vegetables,  and 
managed  by  the  sweat  of  other  men's  brows  not 
merely  to  live  but  to  add  handsomely  to  his  earthly 
possessions.  All  that  he  had  was  his  by  the  law, 
but  it  was  his  sister's  as  far  as  its  disposition  was 
concerned.  When  some  farmer  or  small  manufac- 
turer wanted  an  "  accommodation  "  he  never  went  to 
Ephraim  to  ask  it.  He  saw  Miss  Darrell  and  made 
known  the  circumstances  of  the  case  and  received 
the  stereotyped  reply  that  she  would  see  what  her 
brother  had  to  say.  Every  one  of  them  knew  that 
she  would  tell  Ephraim  whether  to  lend  the  money 
or  refuse  it,  and  that  altering  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians  would  be  a  very  simple  thing  com- 
pared with  getting  her  to  reverse  a  decision. 

But  there  was  one  part  of  the  business  with  which 
Miss  Burton  always  professed  to  have  nothing  at  all 
to  do.  When  the  amounts  lent  were  to  be  called  in, 
and  the  borrowing  parties  were  not  ready  to  pay, 
she  preferred  to  have  her  brother  bear  the  entire 
brunt  of  the  affair.  Her  only  reply  to  those  who 
called  on  such  errands  was,  that  she  knew  nothing 
about  it,  and  that  they  must  see  Ephraim.  They  all 
learned  in  time  that  the  cogs  of  a  mill-wheel  were 
quite  as  much  open  to  argument  as  he,  but  the  first 
time  each  one  made  this  discovery  there  was  apt  to 
be  a  very  interesting  scene  at  the  Burton  homestead. 

The  speculator  of  to-day,  who  has  seen  his  hun- 
dreds turn  to  thousands  with  one  tick  from  the 
electric  current — and  perhaps  thousands  turn  to 
hundreds  with  equal  rapidity — may  smile  at  those 
who  think  themselves  content  with  the  slow  accumu- 
lation of  money  at  six  or  seven  per  cent,  But 


*WAi   IT    FOR  THIS    fOC    MARRIED?"  3d 

Ephraim  Burton  knew  that  sums  so  invested  would 
double  in  a  dozen  years,  and  that  the  result  thus 
obtained  would  double  again  in  another  dozen  years 
and  so  on  indefinitely.  He  was  not  averse,  either, 
to  accepting  a  larger  rate  where  the  security  was 
satisfactory,  and  his  accumulations  grew  like  the 
peach  in  Tommy's  orchard,  until  he  was  one  of  the 
solid  men  of  his  town.  At  the  breaking  out  of  the 
civil  war  he  had  seen  bis  opportunity,  like  many 
another  forehanded  patriot.  He  "  had  confidence  in 
the  government,"  and  gathering  in  all  the  money  he 
could  raise,  he  bought  United  States  bonds,  payable 
in  gold,  though  purchased  with  inflated  currency, 
and  bearing  gold  interest  at  the  rate  of  seven  and 
three-tenths  per  cent.  Perhaps  he  took  a  hand  also 
at  some  other  things  done  in  those  days,  of  which 
the  less  said  the  better. 

Several  years  after  the  end  of  the  war  he  noticed 
<hat  the  farms  on  which  he  still  held  mortgages  wera 
deteriorating  in  price,  and  he  set  systematically 
about  calling  in  all  of  his  loans  on  that  species  of 
property. 

A  specimen  scene  at  the  Burton  house  occurred  on 
Jhe  day  that  Miss  Burton  had  the  unpleasant  experi- 
ence with  her  niece  recorded  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter, and  a  brief  resum6  of  it  may  be  of  interest  to  the 
reader.  She  was  sitting  silently  with  her  brother  in 
their  little  sitting-room  late  in  the  afternoon,  when 
a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Miss  Burton,  as 
was  her  habit,  went  to  meet  the  visitor,  who  proved 
to  be  one  of  the  townsmen  named  Taylor,  on  whose 
land  Mr.  Burton — begging  pardon  for  a  title  which 
the  smallest  boy  in  Auburn  would  have  scorned  to 
use — held  an  overdue  mortgage. 

Miss  Burton  bowed  quietly,  and  allowed  the  new- 


40  HER  HUSBAND'S  FKITSHB, 

comer  to  enter  the  room,  where  her  brother  rote  and 

offered  him  one  of  the  wooden  chairs. 

"  It's  Mr.  Taylor,"  was  Miss  Burton's  sole  remark,  - 
as    she   resumed   the  position  by  the  window  which 
she  had  recently  vacated. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Taylor,"  said  Ephraim 
cordially. 

Mr.  Taylor  was  not  as  calm  as  was  either  his 
host  or  hostess.  He  was  in  fact  considerably  dis- 
tressed, and  his  face  was  a  mirror  of  his  emotions. 
He  hesitated  how  to  begin  his  errand,  and  looked 
askance  at  Miss  Burton,  who  seemed  oblivious  of  his 
presence. 

"  It's  been  a  fine  day,"  Ephraim  said  at  last,  to 
encourage  him.  "I  thought  at  one  time  there  was 
going  to  be  a  shower,  but  it  cleared  off  again.  The 
wind  veere  J  around  to  the  south'ard,  and  I  guess 
that'll  keep  it  off  a  spell  longer." 

"  I  see  you've  advertised  my  place  for  sale,"  said 
Mr.  Taylor,  thinking  it  as  well  to  come  to  the  point 
at  once. 

"Well,  yes,  sir,"  responded  Ephraim,  cheerfully. 
**  Yes,  sir.  I — I  have,  sir." 

The  visitor  repressed  his  excitement  with  diffi- 
culty. 

"  I  can't  help  saying  I  am  surprised,"  he  rejoined. 
"It  is  the  first  time  the  interest  has  been  behind,  and 
you  have  had  my  note  for  eleven  years." 

**  Yes,  sir ;  yes,  sir,"  assented  the  unmoved 
Ephraim. 

"  I  can't  get  it  before  next  month,  do  the  best  I 
can,"  continued  the  debtor.  "  I  came  and  told  you 
•o.  I  have  had  sickness  in  the  house,  and  there  was 
a  good  deal  of  medicine  to  buy.  You  know  my 
youngest  boy  had  the  fever." 


"WAS  IT  FOB  THIB  YOU  MARBIED?"  41 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  sir,"  said  Ephraim,  mildly.  "I 
hope  he  is  better  now,  sir.  He  is  a  fine  boy,  sir." 

The  father  was  momentarily  mollified  by  this 
compliment,  for  it  touched  him  in  a  tender  spot,  but 
he  returned  to  the  subject  at  issue. 

"  I  shall  bring  you  the  interest  next  month,  but 
the  cost  of  the  advertising  and  serving  will  come 
hard  on  me.  When  I  came  and  told  you  how  it 
was,  I  certainly  thought  you  meant  to  wait." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Taylor  glanced  at  Miss  Burton,  in  the  vain 
hope  that  there  might  be  help  in  that  direction,  but 
she  sat  like  a  graven  image,  with  her  face  turned 
toward  the  street. 

"  If  I  get  the  interest  by  next  week  will  yeu  stop 
the  proceedings  ?"  he  asked,  desperately. 

Ephraim  coughed  mildly  behind  his  hand. 

«  The — hem  ! — the  note  itself  is  also  overdue,"  he 
answered,  slowly. 

"  The  note  !  You  don't  mean  to  press  the  pay- 
ment of  the  principal  !"  exclaimed  Mr  Taylor,  the 
perspiration  breaking  out  all  over  him.  "  Why,  the 
security  is  perfect.  The  note  doesn't  half  cover 
what  I  paid  for  the  place.  You  know  that  as  well 
as  I." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir,"  came  the  exasperating  answer. 
*  I  know  it,  sir.  But  I  am  calling  in  all  my  loans  in 
Auburn,  to  invest  them  in  another  place.  Yes, 
sir." 

Mr.  Taylor  looked  at  Ephraim  Burton,  and  then 
at  his  sister  by  the  window  again,  who  might  have 
been  made  of  wood  for  all  she  seemed  to  notice  any- 
thing that  was  going  on  around  her.  He  wa* 
momentarily  overpowered  by  the  situation. 

44  If  you  demand  the  principal  of  the  note  I  owe 


42  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIKND. 

you,  at  this  time,  it  will  simply  ruin  me,"  he  said,  in 
freezing  tones.  "  I  could  no  more  raise  that  money 
than — than  I  could  fly  to  the  moon.  I  put  six  hun- 
dred dollars  in  there  to  begin  with,  and  I  have  spent 
as  much  more  in  improvements.  I  shall  lose  it  all." 

"Yes,  sir." 

An  inclination  to  launch  into  vituperation  came 
over  Mr.  Taylor,  but  he  repressed  it  with  the  greatest 
difficulty. 

"You  can't  mean  it,"  he  said,  instead,  trying  to 
force  a  smile.  "  We've — we've  been  good  friends  too 
long." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"To  be  turned  out  of  our  home  at  my  time  of  life 
would  be  mighty  hard  on  me  and  my  family." 

"  Yes,  sir.     It  is  rather  hard,  sir." 

u  Ah  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Taylor.  "Then  you  won't 
do  it  !  I  thought  you  couldn't  be  so  hard-hearted. 
1  will  bring  your  interest  promptly  on  July  15,  and 
I  won't  ever  get  behind  again,  even  if  I  have  to  sell 
a  cow,  though  I  should  hate  to  do  that,  as  milk  is 
now  our  main  support."  He  rose  from  his  chai^ 
much  relieved.  "  You  won't  do  anything  about  it 
now,  will  you  ?'* 

*  Yes,  sir,"  piped  Ephraim.  "  I  shall  have  to — to 
foreclose,  sin  I — in  fact — hem  ! — I  need  the  money, 
8ir." 

Mr.  Taylor  could  stand  it  no  longer.  When  the 
last  grain  of  hope  was  thus  ruthlessly  taken  away, 
he  poured  out  the  vials  of  his  wrath  on  the  head  of 
his  oppressor,  with  all  the  fury  of  a  desperate  man. 

"  Why,  you  old  skinflint,"  he  cried,  "  you  ought  to 
be  tarred  and  feathered  !  You  haven't  as  much 
heart  in  you  as  there  is  in  a  piece  of  stone  !  Need 
this  money,  you  old  liar !  You  have  enough  laid 


"WAS    TT   FOX  THIS  YOU  MAMHKD  ?*  43 

by  to  bury  a  thousand  old  mummies  like  you, 
and  that  is  all  the  use  you'll  ever  have  for  any 
of  it !  You  have  robbed  the  poor  men  of  this 
town  for  forty  years,  taking  their  little  savings  to 
swell  your  own  pile,  driving  widows  and  orphans  to 
the  almshouse  !  If  you'd  had  your  deserts  they'd 
have  hung  you  to  one  of  your  trees  long  ago,  or 
burned  you  in  a  bonfire  made  of  your  own  mortgages. 
If  'I  were  to  break  this  chair  over  your  head,  the 
people  of  Auburn  would  pass  me  a  vote  of  thanks. 
You  can't  frighten  me  again.  Before  I'd  ask  a  favor 
of  you  I'd  take  my  wife  and  children  out  on  the 
highway  and  see  them  starve  and  freeze  there. 
You  miserable,  cowardly,  dried-up  old  fool !" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir,"  came  the  low  reply,  unaccom- 
panied by  the  least  symptom  of  annoyance. 

The  old  man's  mildness  partially  disarmed  the 
other,  in  spite  of  himself.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to 
continue  kicking  at  vacancy. 

"  You  know,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  dropping  his  voice, 
"  that  I  can't  borrow  anything  in  Auburn  on  that 
farm  ;  that  all  the  men  who  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  lending  money  here  are  going  out  of  the  business. 
It  is  my  home.  Three  of  my  children  were  born 
there.  We — my  wife  and  I — have  made  every  sacri- 
fice to  keep  it.  I  can't  do  a  good  day's  work,  as 
I  once  could,  and  the  milk  is  about  all  we  have  to 
look  to.  You  know  that." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  sir." 

"And  still  you  intend  to  foreclose  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

A  desire  to  murder  this  man — to  rid  the  earth  of 
such  a  monster,  crept  over  the  unhappy  debtor,  and 
he  tore  himself  from  the  house  by  main  force  lest  it 
should  overpower  him.  It  was  a  question  for  a 


44  HB*  BtTSBlin^g  FBIBHB. 

second  or  so  whether  he  would  go  before  he  struck 
that  heavy  chair  across  Ephraim  Burton's  bald  head 
and  sent  him  to  a  place  where  he  had,  mayhap,  an 
account  of  his  own  overdue,  and  not  the  where- 
withal to  meet  the  obligation. 

The  old  man  had  no  idea  how  near  he  had  beea 
to  death,  and  even  had  he  realized  it,  might  not 
have  altered  a  single  word  or  action.  He  was  per- 
fectly  used  to  such  pleadings  and  threats,  and  their 
effect  upon  him  was  never  greater  or  less  than  in  the 
present  instance.  Neither  did  the  excited  words 
and  actions  of  Mr.  Taylor  have  any  effect  upon  the 
stone  statue  at  the  window.  Miss  Burton  did  not 
turn  her  face  toward  the  men  once  during  their 
conversation,  nor  did  she  move  for  some  time  after 
her  brother  had  risen  to  fasten  the  door  and 
resumed  his  seat.  When  she  did  speak,  her  words 
had  no  reference  to  that  occurrence. 

In  such  an  atmosphere  as  this,  Anna  Darrell  had 
passed  the  few  years  preceding  her  marriage.  Her 
aunt  tried  to  instil  into  her  mind  that  there  was 
little  worth  thinking  about  in  this  world  except 
bonds,  mortgages  and  notes  of  hand.  But  there 
was  another  lesson  that  she  used  every  endeavor  to 
teach  the  young  girl,  and  that  was  the  "  folly  "  of 
marriage.  She  never  tired  of  telling  her  of  instances 
where  wedded  life  had  turned  out  badly,  and  where 
single  blessedness  had  been  proved  to  be  by  far  the 
preferable  state.  It  was  her  dearest  hope  that 
Anna  would  be  a  credit  to  this  line  of  teaching,  and 
when  the  day  came  that  the  inevitable  was  made 
apparent,  she  received  a  blow  to  her  pride  from 
which  she  never  recovered. 

Mehitable  Burton  had  seen  not  less  than  sixty 
winters,  and  her  temper  had  been  bitten  by  the 


IT  FOB  THIS  YOU  MARBMD  f  45 

xrosts  of  every  one  of  them.  That  softening  of  the 
impulses  that  seems  inseparable  from  the  clinging 
arms  of  one's  own  children,  had,  of  course,  never 
come  to  her.  Rumor  had  it  that  she  had  had  her 
"  affair  "  in  the  long  ago,  when  very  young,  with  a 
youth  who  had  passed  a  summer  vacation  at  Auburn, 
and  who  had  jilted  her  after  the  wedding  garments 
were  procured.  Be  that  as  it  may,  she  was  a  most 
inveterate  husband-hater. 

At  first,  being  so  young,  Anna  seemed  to  fall  in  read- 
ily with  the  ideas  which  she  heard  preached  so  con- 
stantly. But  she  had  hardly  reached  her  eighteenth 
birthday,  when  the  traditional  young  prince  came  to 
the  village — in  the  person  of  Edmund  Darrell — 
and  the  citadel  capitulated  all  the  easier  because 
so  totally  unused  to  the  arts  of  attack  or  defense. 

How  Anna  managed  to  see  Edmund  alone  long 
enough  to  listen  to  his  tale  of  love,  was  a  mystery  in 
Auburn,  but  listen  she  did  and  an  engagement  was 
made.  He  was  anxious  for  an  immediate  union,  and 
though  she  knew  full  well  that  her  aunt  would 
refuse  her  consent,  the  girl  promised  that  it  should 
be  as  her  lover  desired.  It  was  an  Auburn  witticism 
that  the  Burtons  were  equal  to  ten  ordinary  people 
— Miss  Mehitable  being  the  figure  "  I  "  and  Ephraim 
the  "  o,"  and  no  thought  of  asking  her  uncle's  opinion 
entered  Anna's  head.  But  one  very  warm  day,  in 
more  senses  than  one,  Anna  brought  her  promised 
husband  to  her  aunt's  door,  and  told  her  the  errand 
on  which  they  had  come. 

"We  are  going  to  be  married,  aunt,  dear,"  she 
said,  with  that  bold  front  of  the  prospective  bride 
which  will  never  cease  to  be  a  marvel.  "  You  have 
taken  the  place  of  a  mother  to  me,  and  I  want  you  to 
give  us  your  consent  and  blessing." 


46  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIHXD. 

The  silent  rage  of  Miss  Burton  at  this  announce* 
ment  was  pitiable  to  see.  She  grew  very  white 
around  the  lips,  staggered  slightly,  seemed  about  to 
swoon,  and  then,  recovering  herself,  pointed  speech- 
lessly to  the  door  with  a  significant  gesture,  and 
turned  her  back  upon  them. 

On  the  whole  this  did  not  greatly  surprise  the 
young  girl,  and  she  was  too  happy  to  allow  it  to 
distress  her  much  at  the  time.  She  went  immedi- 
ately with  Edmund  to  the  residence  of  one  of  the 
local  clergymen,  where  they  were,  in  the  phrase- 
ology of  the  service,  "  made  one."  From  the  par- 
sonage the  couple  proceeded  to  rooms  in  the  Auburn 
House  that  Darrell  had  engaged,  where,  after  shyly 
allowing  her  husband  to  snatch  his  first  kiss,  Anna 
wrote  a  note  to  Miss  Burton,  asking  her  to  send  her 
effects  as  soon  as  convenient,  stating  that  she 
expected  to  continue  to  reside  in  the  village,  at  least 
for  the  present,  and  expressing  the  hope  that  her 
aunt  would  think  better  of  it  later  and  come  to  see 
her.  She  said  she  would  not  ask  forgiveness,  feel- 
ing conscious  of  no  wrong,  but  trusted  that  the 
abruptness  of  her  action  would  be  excused,  as  the 
circumstances  of  her  husband's  business  had  made 
haste  necessary.  Before  night  every  person  in 
Auburn  knew  of  the  affair,  and  for  the  next  montn 
and  more  it  became  the  basis  of  most  of  the  gossip 
of  the  neighborhood. 

A  sweeter  or  more  modest  girl  than  Anna  Burton 
never  breathed,  but  like  all  brides  whom  we  have 
ever  known  or  of  whom  we  have  any  record,  Anna 
Darrell  faced  the  world  without  the  tremor  of  an 
eyelid.  The  wedded  couple  took  their  meals,  by 
her  suggestion,  at  the  public  table,  and  the  number 
of  transient  diners  was  for  a  time  greatly  increased 


**WAS   IT   FOR  THIS  YOTT  MASKED?*  47 

in  consequence.  They  rode  all  over  the  vicinity 
daily,  and  it  was  the  universal  verdict  that  they 
were  a  very  fine-looking  pair.  This  line  of  policy 
turned  the  public  tide  in  their  favor,  with  the  young 
folks,  at  least,  for  there  had  been  a  little  wave  of  sen- 
timent against  them  at  the  start.  But  now  Aunt 
Mehitable  was  voted  an  old  dunce  for  compelling 
them  to  get  married  in  this  manner,  and  the  cards, 
which  were  soon  sent  out  in  quantities,  were 
responded  to  by  the  population  en  masse. 

Mr.  Darrell,  though  in  fact  much  bored  by  these 
ceremonies,  succeeded  in  disguising  his  feelings, 
and  created  a  distinctly  favorable  impression.  The 
young  eiigibles  of  the  town,  who  had  been  disposed 
to  consider  his  action  a  slight  on  their  legitimate 
right  to  the  first  pick  of  the  Auburn  beauties,  were 
obliged  to  admit  that  he  was  a  thoroughly  likeable 
fellow,  with  no  airs  about  him.  The  young  ladies 
came  away  charmed.  After  three  days  more  had 
passed,  if  there  were  any  villagers  who  still  sympa- 
thized with  Miss  Burton,  they  were  too  aged  and 
insignificant  a  part  of  the  social  world  to  be  worth 
noticing. 

In  using  the  expression  "  sided  with  Miss  Burton," 
the  author  does  not  wish  to  create  an  erroneous 
impression.  Not  only  did  that  lady  decline  to 
rehearse  her  griefs  to  any  one  whatever,  but  she 
frowned  upon  the  attempts  of  a  few  would-be  sym- 
pathizers to  draw  her  into  a  discussion  in  relation 
to  the  affair.  Her  always  stern  countenance  may 
have  been  a  shade  more  forbidding  than  before, 
whenever  she  took  her  stick  and  hobbled  along  the 
public  road.  She  may  have  snapped  up  the  grocei's 
boy  or  the  woman  who  came  to  do  her  weekly 
house-cleaning  a  little  more  sharply  than  of  yore, 


KW  H^w  H  IT^JffA  pi  t^  tf 

but  not  one  word  In  relation  to  the  departed  niec« 
issued  from  her  lips.  Several  over-zealous  partizans 
shook  their  heads  and  sighed  whenever  they  met 
her,  as  if  to  convey  some  grain  of  comfort  to  the 
stricken  soul,  but  she  might  have  been  deaf  and 
blind  for  any  sign  she  gave. 

On  the  fourth  day,  however,  the  man  of  whom  she 
had  bought  all  her  fish  for  a  quarter  century  was 
imprudent  enough  to  remark,  as  he  weighed  out  a 
mackerel  for  her,  "  We  all  have  our  troubles,  Miss 
Burton."  And  the  next  week  and  ever  after,  she 
patronized  the  new  fish  dealer  across  the  way,  whose 
coming  into  town  she  had  denounced,  two  months 
before,  as  a  sin  and  a  shame. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  from  the  date  of  his  mar- 
riage, Auburn  became  aware,  one  morning,  that  Mr. 
Darrell  had  gone  to  Boston,  leaving  his  young  bride 
at  the  hotel.  The  dying  flames  of  gossip  were 
fanned  into  a  momentary  flicker  by  this  announce- 
ment, for  the  explanation  that  "  business"  required 
his  attention  did  not  satisfy  the  villagers.  The 
universal  sentiment  was  that  in  that  case  he 
should  have  taken  Anna  with  him.  She  had  never 
been  anywhere  since  her  childhood,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity was  one  that  they  all  agreed  she  should  have 
seized.  Perhaps,  however,  some  argued,  he  had 
only  gone  for  a  day  or  two  and  she  preferred  to  wait 
till  they  could  take  a  longer  journey  together.  But 
the  day  or  two  passed,  and  several  days  after  those, 
and  still  he  did  not  return.  Then  the  Auburnites 
grew  quite  united  in  the  belief  that  Darrell  was  not 
treating  his  wife  with  proper  consideration,  and  a 
minority  party  arose  which  began  to  hint  openly 
that  there  had  probably  been  a  "falling  out" 
between  the  pair. 


"WAi  IT  FOB  THIS  YOU  MAKWJBD?"  49 

Mr.  Upham,  the  landlord  of  the  hotel,  contributed 
his  quota  to  the  general  information  by  stating  that 
Mr.  Darrell  had  paid  in  advance  for  everything  on  a 
liberal  scale,  and  had  left  word  that  the  best  mare  in 
the  stable,  to  which  his  wife  had  taken  a  fancy, 
should  be  reserved  for  her  exclusive  use.  This 
staggered  the  minority  party  a  little,  but,  like  all 
similar  birds  of  ill-omen,  they  bided  their  time.  It 
soon  began  to  be  generally  conceded  that  Darrell 
was  in  fault.  When  an  entire  month  passed  without 
his  return,  vague  rumors  of  an  impending  divorce 
were  put  in  circulation.  The  growing  anxiety  which 
Anna  tried  in  vain  to  hide,  was  not  omitted  in  mak- 
ing up  the  total. 

The  young  man  in  the  post-office  noticed  that  the 
post-marks  on  the  infrequent  letters  that  Mrs.  Dar- 
rell received,  showed  her  husband  to  be  travelling, 
and  one  of  them  was  dated  as  far  off  as  Denver. 
"  What  a  shame,"  cried  the  gossips,  "  that  he  should 
take  a  trip  like  that  alone,  when  it  would  have  been 
so  delightful  for  Anna,  poor  thing  !"  But  when  the 
excitement  was  at  its  greatest  height,  and  talk  of  a 
public  expression  of  sympathy  had  begun,  the  train 
one  morning  brought  to  the  village  no  less  a  persofi 
than  Darrell  himself,  who  hastened  with  all  speed 
from  the  railway  station  to  the  hotel,  Anna,  who 
sat  at  her  window,  saw  him  coming,  and,  rushing 
down  the  stairs,  flew  into  his  outstretched  arms. 
The  mutual  embrace  was  so  tender  that  all  specula- 
tions were  incontinently  demolished,  and  Auburn 
was  plunged  into  a  state  of  stupid  wonder. 

The  husband's  stay  lasted  but  tnree  days.  And 
from  that  time  on  he  visited  her  but  seldom,  often 
remaining,  when  he  came,  but  a  few  hours,  never 
more  than  a  night,  at  the  longest.  She  never  left  tbe 


SO  HER   HUSBAND^   FRIEND. 

village,  either  with  or  without  him,  but  there  was  na 
evidence  of  regret  visible  in  her  face  or  manner,  and 
the  towns-people  at  last  found  speculation  about  the 
matter  a  dull  pastime.  That  Darrell  behaved  oddly 
they  all  admitted,  but  as  they  could  make  nothing 
of  it,  they  gradually  took  up  with  new  themes. 
Anna  lived  alone  in  her  pretty  rooms  at  the  hotel  for 
some  months,  varying  the  monotony  by  driving  about 
the  town  and  vicinity.  The  purchase  of  the  house 
in  which  she  was  introduced  to  the  reader,  and  the 
extensive  additions  made  upon  it,  excited  only  tem- 
porary interest.  But  the  next  spring  the  birth  of  a 
baby,  while  its  father  was  away  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  country,  called  forth  much  sympathetic  com- 
ment. 

Anna  was  alone  with  her  medical  man  and  her 
servants,  reinforced  for  the  occasion  by  a  nurse,  when 
this  event  occurred.  As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  the 
village,  however,  Miss  Burton  astonished  Anna  and 
everybody  else,  by  hobbling  into  the  house  and 
assuming  the  position  of  general  manager  of  every- 
thing, precisely  as  if  no  estrangement  had  ever  taken 
place. 

"Things  are  in  a  fearful  hubbub  here,"  she 
remarked  to  her  niece,  as  she  returned  from  an 
inspection  of  the  departments,  "  and  I  am  going  to 
set  them  to  rights." 

"Yes,  dear  aunt,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,"  faltered 
Anna,  much  relieved.  "  Edmund  intended  to  be 
here,  but  he  is  very  busy,  you  know,  and — " 

Aunt  Burton  sniffed  like  the  war  horse  of  Job. 

"Busy!"  she  snapped.  "Busy!  At  a  time  like 
this!  Ah-h-hr 

Her  opinion  of  Edmund  Darrell  in  particular  and 


"WAS  IT  FOB  THIg  TOU   MARKIBD?"  S| 

of  mankind  in  general  was  condensed  into  that  awful 

monosyllable. 

Anna  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age,  but  she  had 
a  remarkable  physique  and  an  excellent  constitution, 
and  all  went  well.  Telegrams  had  been  dispatched 
to  the  husband,  but  the  child  was  five  days  old  when 
he  arrived.  The  frequent  inquiries  that  Anna  made 
during  this  interim  grew  quite  plaintive  as  time  went 
on,  though  she  fufly  believed — poor  little  woman— 
that  she  concealed  her  anxiety  from  those  about  her. 
When  he  came  at  last,  and  was  so  sorry,  and 
explained  how  he  had  been  moving  about  so  from 
place  to  place  that  the  telegrams  had  never  reached 
him,  she  was  repaid  for  the  long  delay.  And  when 
he  took  up  the  baby  and  kissed  it,  and  said  it  was  as 
pretty  as  its  mother — a  polite  fiction — she  laughed 
so  heartily  that  the  nurse  came  and  bundled  him  out 
ot  the  room  without  ceremony. 

Darrell  stayed  in  Auburn  nearly  a  week  this  time, 
though  any  one  could  see  that  the  place  was  sur- 
passingly dull  for  him.  He  walked  the  long  piazzas, 
smoking  innumerable  cigars,  and  enduring  his 
martyrdom  with  what  resignation  he  could  muster. 
Aunt  Burton  never  spoke  pleasantly  to  him  once  in 
all  the  time,  and  grew  all  the  more  nettled  when  he 
showed  that  he  had  not  the  least  intention  of  mind* 
ing  it. 

"  I  shall  express  my  opinion  by-and-by,  of  the  way 
he  has  acted,"  she  said  to  Anna,  when  she  could  sit 
up.  "  The  next  time  he  comes  here  I  will  give  him 
one  talking  to,  if  he  never  gets  another." 

"  Dear  aunt,"  replied  Anna,  much  pained,  "  if  you 
have  any  regard  for  me  whatever,  you  will  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  I  can  imagine  no  way  in  which 
vou  could  grieve  me  more.  Edmund  has  invented 


ft!  KKB  HUSBAND'S 


something,  and  is  attending  to  the  patents.  He  has 
a  great  deal  on  his  mind.  I  understand  the  cause  ot 
his  absences,  and  I  am  perfectly  satisfied.  You  must 
see  that  he  loves  me  very  much.  He  paid  a  great 
deal  for  this  house,  and  I  have  a  book  on  the  Auburn 
bank  with  more  money  than  I  need  to  use.  You 
must  not  —  no,  you  really  must  not  —  say  anything 
to  annoy  him." 

The  maiden  lady  had  a  strange  expression  as  she 
looked  at  the  pleading  face  before  her. 

"  Was  it  for  this  you  married  ?"  she  queried, 
sharply.  "  You  had  a  good  home,  and  you  knew  that 
every  penny  Ephraim  and  I  have  put  by  was  to  have 
been  yours.  You  had  all  you  wanted  without  this 
idiocy  !" 

As  harsh  as  were  the  words,  Miss  Burton  had 
relented,  and  Anna  knew  it.  She  stroked  the  rough 
old  hand  she  held  in  hers. 

**  No,  aunt,  I  did  not  have  everything  I  wanted. 
I  did  not  have  Edmund  —  nor  —  nor  this." 

It  was  with  a  very  pretty  action  that  she  indicated 
the  baby  lying  by  her  in  its  cradle,  while  a  bright 
wave  of  pinkish  color  swept  over  her  pallid  face. 

Since  that  day  seven  years  had  come  and  gone, 
and  Darrell's  "  pressing  business  "  had  kept  him 
from  home  in  an  increasing,  rather  than  lessening 
ratio.  The  second  child,  born  more  than  four  years 
after  the  first  one,  was  two  months  old  when  he  first 
saw  it,  he  having  taken  a  trip  to  South  America  some- 
time before  its  advent  was  expected,  and  been 
delayed  longer  than  he  intended.  But  custom  is 
everything,  and  the  wife  gave  no  outward  sign  of 
repining  for  what  she  had  never  known.  She 
devoted  herself  to  the  care  of  her  little  family,  per- 
aot  mere  unhappy  than  the  average  of  her 


*MT  NATUKE  DEMAJTDS   SYMPATHY.*  53 

class.  She  wrote  weekly  letters  to  the  latest 
addresses  she  could  obtain,  and  read  with  deep 
pleasure  the  semi-occasional  answers  that  he  found 
time  to  send. 

Aunt  Mehitable  only  made  herself  a  member  of  the 
household  on  the  most  important  occasions,  but  she 
was  at  other  times  a  frequent  visitor,  and  it  is  not 
believed  that  she  ever  came  and  went  without  having 
something  very  cutting  to  say  of  Edmund  Darrell. 
Anna  became  quite  habituated  to  this  as  well  as  to 
the  other  trials  of  her  life,  and  would  have  uttered  no 
protest  had  the  remarks  been  confined  to  her  ears 
alone.  But  when  little  Alice  began  to  notice,  the 
wife's  loyalty  aroused  the  old  spirit  in  her,  and,  as 
we  have  seen,  it  brought  her  into  sharp  collision 
with  her  waspish  aunt. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"MY   NATURE   DEMANDS  SYMPATHY." 

The  Auburn  gossips,  who  were  in  such  a  state  of 
wonder  at  the  peculiar  conduct  of  Mr.  Edmund 
Darrell,  would  have  given  their  ears,  almost,  if  they 
could  have  been,  as  can  the  reader,  listeners  at  a 
conversation  between  that  gentleman  and  his  friend 
Harold  Mordaunt,  in  the  city  of  Paris,  a  few  days 
after  the  one  in  which  they  held  their  argument 
over  the  question  of  the  relative  advantages  of 
Royalty  and  Communism,  apropos  of  the  monument 
in  the  Place  de  1'  Etoile. 


§4  HER    HUSBAND  S 

It  was  morning,  and  the  lovely  city  shone  again 
in  all  the  beauties  of  early  summer.  They  left  their 
hotel  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Colonne  Vendome, 
and  strolled  over  to  the  Luxembourg  gardens  by  the 
way  of  the  Pont  Neuf.  At  Henry's  statue  they 
paused,  and  leaning  together  over  the  parapet,  they 
watched  for  awhile  the  little  passenger  steamers  that 
run  from  Charrenton  to  St.  Cloud,  the  fishermen 
who  sit  all  day  in  expectation  that  is  seldom  realized, 
and  the  loading  and  unloading  of  the  freight 
barges. 

Then  they  continued  their  course  through  wind- 
ing and  narrow  streets  left  at  the  time  when  a 
general  demolition  in  the  interest  of  improvement 
seemed  to  threaten  the  whole  of  Paris.  Mordaunt, 
who  knew  the  city  from  centre  to  circumference,  told 
many  stories  of  the  houses  by  which  they  passed,  and 
of  historic  events  that  had  taken  place  in  their 
vicinity.  In  this  building  such-and-such  a  famous 
man  had  once  resided  ;  on  this  corner  an  affray  took 
place  between  the  partisans  of  this  cause  and  that ; 
here  so-and-so  stood  when  he  harangued  the 
citizens  on  a  great  occasion  ;  and  through  this  lane 
a  royal  victim  passed  on  his  way  to  the  imprison- 
ment which  ended  only  with  his  death. 

Darrell  was  usually  a  very  attentive  listener  to 
reminiscences  of  this  kind,  which  formed  indeed  one 
of  the  chief  charms  of  his  strolls  with  his  old 
friend ;  but  on  this  particular  morning  he  showed 
an  absent-mindedness  that  was  not  lost  on  the  other. 
Feeling  sure  that  he  had  said  nothing  to  antagonize 
him  on  any  of  his  pet  notions,  Mordaunt  was  some- 
what puzzled  to  find  a  reason.  He  said  nothing  in 
relation  to  the  matter,  until  they  had  reached  th« 
gardens  and  secured  «  comfortable  seat  under  one 


"MT  JTATURE  DEMANDS   SYMPATHY."  55 

of  the    shade   trees   that   bordered   a   semi-retired 
cross-walk.     Then  he  asked,  with  abruptness  : 

"  Edmund,  what  is  it  ?" 

Darrell,  who  was  at  the  moment  in  a  brown- 
study,  looked  up. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Harry,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  your  pre-occupation  this  morning  is  some- 
thing marvelous.  I  have  been  talking  in  a  steady 
stream  to  you  for  the  last  hour  on  the  most  interest- 
ing themes,  and  I  doubt  if  you  can  repeat  a  word 
that  I  have  said." 

Darrell  recognized  for  the  first  time  the  truth  of  the 
statement.  For  a  minute  he  made  no  reply.  Then 
he  put  his  hand  on  his  companion's  knee,  with 
the  confidence  of  years  of  friendship,  and  replied  : 

"I  had  a  letter  from  my  wife  this  morning.  It 
always  makes  me  dull  to  get  a  letter  from  her." 

He  paused,  apparently  to  allow  his  companion  to 
interject  some  comment  if  he  desired,  but  there 
was  none. 

"  I  know,  Harry,"  he  continued,  "  that  you  are 
growing  to  consider  me  an  eccentric  individual. 
My  married  life  has  hitherto  been  a  sealed  book  to 
all  my  acquaintances.  I  have  long  felt  that  it 
would  be  a  relief  if  I  could  speak  of  it  to  one  as 
deeply  attached  to  me  as  I  think  you  are.  And  yet, 
I  have  a  presentiment  that  such  confidence  would 
be  followed  by  a  loss  of  your  esteem  that  I  should 
regret.  Still,  in  spite  of  all,  if  you  will  listen  to  the 
strange  story  of  my  married  life,  I  will  tell  it  to 
you." 

So  intimate  had  been  the  relations  of  these  two  men, 
that  Mordaunt  had  reason  to  believe  this  matter  of 
wedlock  the  only  secret  between  them.  As  school- 
flaates  they  had  been  inseparable  churns,  and  wh«n, 


96  HSR  HUSBAND'S  FBIEKB. 

in  later  life  Harry  had  gone  on  his  long  voyage^ 
they  had  been  the  most  faithful  of  correspondents. 
Every  item  in  relation  to  his  business  successes  and 
failures,  every  movement,  in  short,  that  he  made, 
had  been  told  by  Edmund  to  Harry — with  this  sig* 
nificant  exception.  Until  the  moment  just  past  he 
had  never  in  the  remotest  degree  alluded  to  having 
a  wife  at  all,  in  all  his  conversations  and  correspon- 
dence with  him.  He  knew,  through  other  means, 
that  his  friend  was  probably  married,  but  he  was 
not  absolutely  sure  even  of  that.  He  had  had  letters 
from  him  mailed  in  the  little  town  of  Auburn,  and 
had  suspected  that  the  mysterious  wife  was  located 
in  that  place.  There  was  no  reason  for  him  to 
attempt  to  enter  upon  a  domain  so  jealously  guarded, 
and  he  had  never  by  a  word  or  hint  betrayed  his  suspi- 
cions. Now  that  Darrell  had  of  his  own  accord 
offered  to  open  the  gates,  however,  he  was  not  averse 
to  seeing  the  interior. 

"  I  will  listen  to  anything  you  wish  to  tell  me, 
Edmund,"  was  his  quiet  reply. 

Darrell  cleared  his  throat,  as  if  the  words  he  was 
about  to  utter  required  an  especially  free  passage. 

**  You  knew  me  from  childhood  to  manhood,"  he 
began.  "Can  you  say,  up  to  the  time  when  we 
parted,  that  you  ever  saw  me  show  the  least  interest 
in  any  woman  ?" 

"  Mo.  You  were  rather  noted,  if  anything,  for  a 
Contrary  tendency." 

"  Exactly.  But  now  I  am  interested — intensely  so 
— in  two.  One  of  them  is  my  wife,  the  mother  of  my 
two  children.  The  other — " 

He  hesitated,  and  Mordaunt  tlevated  his  eye* 
brows. 

"  The  other — thould  have  baen. 


"MY  NATUBB  DEMANDS  SYMPATHY.*  W 

Mordaunt  nodded  his  head  sympathizingly. 

"  Twas  ever  thus,"  he  mused.  "  How  much  better 
to  do  as  I  have  done,  marry  none  at  ail." 

"  No,"  responded  Darrell,  "  not  for  me.  My 
nature,  though  it  was  late  in  developing,  demands 
love — feminine  love  ;  sympathy — feminine  sympa* 
thy.  It  is  necessary  to  have  some  one  who  will  share 
my  views,  my  hopes,  my  aspirations,  and  that  some 
one  must  be  of  the  gentler  sex.  I  am  as  incomplete 
without  it  as  one  of  the  halves  of  a  sphere.  Such  a 
partner  a  man  should  find  in  the  woman  he  weds. 
It  has  been  my  misfortune  to  have  to  find  it  else- 
where." 

He  sat  silent  so  long  after  this  that  his  companion 
felt  the  necessity  of  prompting  him. 

"  How  happened  it  that  you  married  ? 

"How?"  He  started  at  the  question.  "I  will 
Jell  you.  Within  a  week  after  you  first  left  me  I  met 
the  women  who  aroused  in  me  the  only  passion  of 
my  life.  She  was  a  year  younger  than  I,  but  with  a 
brain  fit  for  one  ten  years  older.  I  was  in  love  with 
her  from  the  beginning.  Before  I  had  known  her 
two  months  all  the  current  of  my  thoughts  had 
undergone  a  change.  She  was  an  agnostic  ;  I  became 
one.  She  was  an  iconoclast  ;  I  broke  every  image- 
but  hers — that  I  had  ever  set  up.  She  was  a  com- 
munist— opposed  to  the  rule  of  any  aristocracy, 
either  of  men  or  money  ;  I  followed  her  into  every 
labyrinth.  When  we  seemed  to  have  grown  insep- 
arable, when  we  had  become  one  in  soul,  I  found  the 
courage  to  ask  the  question  that  lay  nearest  my 
heart.  And  this  girl,  to  whom  my  entire  being  was 
attached  as  by  chains  of  silver,  expressed  the  greatest 
surprise  at  my  declaration,  and  gave  me  the  finish* 
ing  blow  by  announcing  that  she  was  soon  to  bt 


08  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

united  to  a  noted  professor  of  political  economy 
whose  adopted  daughter  she  was — a  man  twice  her 
age  and  without  the  least  physical  attractions." 

Mordaunt  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"And  even  that  did  not  cure  you  of  your  Com- 
munism?" he  asked. 

"  Certainly  not.  My  views  had  grown  with  slow 
conviction,  my  love  was  a  spontaneous  outburst  over 
which  I  had  no  control.  Only  a  man  who  has  never 
been  in  love  can  afford  to  laugh  at  its  effects.  When 
Miss  Casson  told  me  my  hopes  were  impossible  of 
fruition,  I  could  not  conceal  the  terrible  pain  that  it 
gave  me.  She  realized  all  at  once  what  I  was  about 
to  suffer.  She  told  me  that  Professor  Marlin  had 
taken  her  when  a  friendless  child  and  educated  her 
as  if  she  were  his  own  daughter ;  and  when  he  had 
asked  her  to  marry  him,  admitting  the  inequality  of 
the  match  in  many  respects,  she  had  not  known  how 
to  refuse  him,  though  she  had  told  him  frankly  that 
she  felt  no  such  love  as  she  had  always  supposed 
ought  to  go  with  marriage. 

"  I  think  it  first  came  into  her  mind  at  that 
moment  that  she  held  a  dearer  place  in  her  heart  for 
me  than  she  had  ever  realized.  Forgetting  the 
reserve  that  usage  exacts,  she  threw  her  arms  about 
my  neck  and  sobbed  out  her  sorrow  at  the  unhap- 
piness  she  was  compelled  to  inflict  upon  me.  She 
rowed  to  be  to  me,  notwithstanding  her  marriage,  a 
friend  for  life  in  every  way  consistent  with  duty  and 
honor.  In  the  midst  of  this  trying  situation  the 
Professor  opened  the  door." 

The  listener  gave  a  low  whistle  of  astonishment 
and  interest. 

"  The  Professor,  you  must  understand,"  pursued 
*~kirrell  "  ^as  no  ordinary  man.  He  was  a  phi!os«* 


*MT  H1TUBB  DBJCAJTDfi  SYMPATHY*  59 

pher,  not  only  in  theory  but  in  practice.  It  proba- 
bly nevar  occurred  to  him  to  propose  revolvers  or 
rapiers,  or  even  to  announce  with  violent  language 
that  the  sight  he  had  witnessed  would  bring  his 
engagement  to  an  end.  He  merely  apologized  in  all 
sincerity  for  the  abruptness  of  his  entrance,  saying 
that  he  had  understood  from  the  servant  that  Miss 
Casson  was  alone  ;  and  he  was  about  to  retire  when 
I  arose,  and,  with  considerable  confusion,  insisted  on 
being  heard.  He  thereupon  took  a  chair,  and  I  was 
about  to  begin  my  story,  when  Miss  Casson  took  the 
words  from  my  mouth  and  told  him  everything. 
Upon  which  the  Professor,  in  the  most  open-hearted 
manner,  expressed  his  regret  at  my  disappointment 
and  his  approval  of  the  conduct  of  his  fiancee.  '  We 
shall  be  glad,'  he  said,  '  to  welcome  you  on  all 
occasions  to  our  home,  and  hope  you  will  consider 
yourself,  whenever  convenient,  a  veritable  member 
of  the  household.  Our  marriage  is  set  for  five  weeks 
from  to-day.  The  ceremony  will  be  is  simple  as 
possible  consistent  with  that  formality  which  it  is 
necessary  under  the  present  laws  to  observe.  Only 
the  witnesses  required  will  be  present,  and  I  shall  be 
glad  if  you  will  consent  to  make  one  of  them.*  The 
calmness  of  his  demeanor  completely  disconcerted 
me.  Murmuring  something  about  my  appreciation 
of  the  honor,  I  withdrew  from  the  house,  Miss  Casson 
kissing  me  again  in  the  presence  of  her  promised 
husband,  and  leaving  the  impression  of  her  still  wet 
cheeks  upon  my  own." 

Mordaunt  took  occasion  to  remark,  at  this  point 
in  the  story,  that  if  either  of  the  gentlemen  interested 
had  been  at  all  like  himself  it  would  have  had  a  very 
different  outcome.  In  spite  of  all  the  philosophy  in 
the  worid,  he  said,  few  men  would  care  to  see  theif 


90  BIB  HUSBAND'S 

sweetheart  kiss  a  fellow  who  had  just  declared  his 
love  for  her,  and  fewer  yet  could  quietly  accept  such 
endearments  in  the  face  of  a  successful  rival. 

"You  will  better  understand  how  completely 
crushed  I  was,"  continued  Darrell,  not  seeming  to 
notice  the  interruption,  "  when  I  say  that  I  imme- 
diately abandoned  my  business  and  went  into  the 
country,  leaving  no  one  but  my  foreman  aware  of 
my  address.  After  wandering  about  for  a  week,  I 
found  myself  in  Auburn,  a  village  that  seemed 
sufficiently  secluded  for  my  purpose,  which  was  to 
avoid  meeting  any  one  who  knew  me.  I  installed 
myself  at  the  hotel  of  the  place,  hoping  in  the  quiet- 
ness of  this  rural  spot  to  outgrow  my  disappointment. 

"  I  took  long  walks  through  the  woods  and  fields. 
One  day,  while  strolling  aimlessly  in  this  manner,  I 
heard  screams  of  terror.  Running  to  the  place  from 
which  the  sounds  emanated,  I  saw  a  young  girl  flee- 
ing across  a  meadow,  pursued  by  a  vicious  horse. 
It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  spring  over  the 
fence  and  rush  between  the  girl  and  the  animal,  and, 
by  brandishing  my  heavy  cane,  to  turn  his  attention 
from  his  object  until  she  was  safely  out  of  his  reach. 
The  horse  was  really  very  dangerous,  and  that 
evening  was  killed  by  its  owner.  The  girl  I  rescued 
is  now  my  wife." 

Mordaunt's  face  had  become  as  sunny  as  his  friend's 
was  serious.  He  declared  the  story  positively 
romantic,  and  said  he  should  certainly  write  it  ou* 
for  his  favorite  magazine. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  possessed  me,"  pursued  the 
narrator.  "  Idleness  had  no  doubt  something  to  do 
With  it  But  I  found  myself  making  arrangements 
to  meet  this  girl  on  one  pretext  and  another,  until 
there  was  rarely  a  day  that  we  did  not  see  each 


*MT  HATUBB  DEMAKDfl  SYMPATHY."  (Jl 

other.  And  you  must  not  judge  of  Anna  Burton's 
conduct  on  the  basis  of  the  rules  that  prevail  in 
larger  communities,  There  is,  in  many  of  these 
quiet  New  England  villages,  an  almost  Arcadian 
simplicity  still,  in  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  Per- 
haps no  greater  average  virtue  can  be  found  in 
civilized  lands,  and  yet  the  young  women  do  not 
think  it  necessary  to  hedge  themselves  in  with  the 
thousand  and  one  ceremonies  that  prevail  elsewhere. 
A  man  is  not,  in  their  eyes,  a  necessarily  dangerous 
creature,  and  as  long  as  no  suspicion  exists  in 
relation  to  his  character,  their  meetings  are  quite 
unconstrained. 

"  But  there  was  a  double  reason  why  Anna  must 
meet  me  surreptitiously,  if  at  all.  She  was  an 
orphan,  and  her  aunt,  with  whom  she  lived,  was  a 
maiden  lady  possessed  of  a  deadly  hatred  of  all  my 
sex,  which  she  had  endeavored  by  every  means  in 
her  power  to  instill  into  the  mind  of  her  niece. 
This  Anna  told  me,  in  a  perfectly  artless  manner,  in 
one  of  our  walks,  as  an  explanation  of  the  reason 
why  she  had  not  invited  me  to  her  home.  Our 
acquaintance  grew  rapidly.  I  was  not  too  blind  tf 
notice — don't  think  me  egotistical — that  I  was  mak 
\ng  a  deeper  impression  upon  her  plastic  mind  than 
I  had  intended  ;  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  announc- 
ing my  departure,  when  a  newspaper  that  I  chanced 
to  pick  up  at  the  hotel  precipitated  all  the  mischief 
that  has  since  occurred." 

"  A  newspaper  !"  repeated  Mordaunt. 

"  Yes  ;  I  had  avoided  looking  at  a  single  periodical 
since  I  had  left  Boston,  but  for  some  inscrutable 
reason  I  happened  to  pick  up  this  one,  as  I  sat  in 
the  office  of  the  Auburn  House,  one  morning  after 
breakfast.  The  first  thing  that  met  my  «yc  wa*  the 


62  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

announcement,  in  the  society  column,  that  the  mar. 
riage  of  Professor  Marlin  and  Miss  Laura  Casson 
would  take  place  at  the  Parker  House  on  the  follow- 
ing Wednesday.  The  most  harmless  of  paragraphs, 
you  will  say,  when  you  know  that  I  was  already 
aware  of  the  date,  and  that  the  item  contained  noth- 
ing whatever  that  was  at  all  new  to  me.  But  here 
is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  human  mind. 
Though  I  knew  that  the  marriage  was  to  occur  on 
the  date  and  at  the  place  mentioned,  I  did  not  relish 
having  the  fact  thrust  in  my  face  in  this  fashion.  It 
had  the  effect  upon  me  of  a  challenge,  if  not  of  an 
intentional  insult.  All  that  I  might  have  felt  and 
said  when  the  Professor  came  into  the  room  and 
found  his  sweetheart's  arms  about  my  neck,  swept 
over  me  like  a  flood.  My  mind  began  to  be  filled 
with  revengeful  ideas.  I  thought  of  taking  the  first 
train  to  Boston  and  doing  sotnething — I  did  not 
know  what — to  stop  the  ceremony.  It  seemed  as  if 
I  could  not  live  after  she  had  given  herself  to  that 
man,  whom  I  had  every  reason  to  know  she  would 
never  love  as  she  could  have  loved  me.  I  grew  very 
indignant  as  I  thought  of  her  sacrificing  herself  to 
pay  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  he  had  cunningly 
charged  up  against  her.  Then  a  new  idea  grad- 
ually worked  its  way  into  my  overheated  brain.  1 
could  not  prevent  Miss  Casson's  marriage  ;  could  I 
not  do  something  to  convince  her  that  I  did  not 
care?  What?  There  was  only  one  way.  I  must 
also  marry  !" 

Harry  Mordaunt  could  not  suppress  an  exclama- 
tion at  this  statement.  Even  to  his  light  mind  there 
was  something  quite  blood-curdling  in  it. 

"Yes,  that  was  how  it  came  about,"  said  Darrell, 
growing  quite  ghastly  at  the  reminiscence,  "All 


*1CT  NATURE  DEMAJfDS  SYMPATHY."  63 

night  I  struggled  with  myself,  but  could  find  no 
rest.  When  I  met  Anna  in  the  morning  she 
remarked  upon  my  heavy  eyelids.  In  a  moment  of 
madness  I  carried  out  my  resolve,  and  she,  unhappy 
girl — already  won,  and  believing  herself  the  cause 
of  my  distrait  manner — accepted  me  without  pre- 
tence or  coquetry.  A  hasty  union  was  necessarily 
part  of  my  plan,  and  to  this  she  also  consented. 
The  next  day  we  were  made  one — or  at  least  so  the 
clergyman  solemnly  declared — and  I  sent  the  news 
with  feverish  impatience  to  the  woman  I  loved,  only 
hoping  it  would  give  her  a  tithe  of  the  agony  her 
approaching  nuptials  had  caused  me.  The  aunt  of 
my  young  wife  disowned  her  on  account  of  what 
she  had  done,  and  while  I  could  never  hope  to  give 
her  the  affection  she  deserved,  I  resolved,  as  I  took 
her  to  my  rooms  in  the  hotel,  that  she  should  never 
learn  from  me  the  terrible  sin  of  which  she  had  been 
made  the  victim. 

"  With  all  the  tenderness  of  a  bride  she  gave  me  a 
thousand  pangs  for  the  despicable  part  I  was  play- 
ing. I  went  through  the  next  week  as  best  I  could. 
We  ate  at  the  hotel  table  and  drove  out  every  day,  the 
cynosure  of  all  the  eyes  in  Auburn.  I  met  the 
crowds  who  called  in  answer  to  invitations  and  *  con- 
gratulated '  us  with  all  the  sang  froid  I  could 
assume.  Business  letters  soon  began  to  press  for 
my  return,  and  I  was  face  to  face  with  the  question 
whether  I  should  take  my  wife  to  Boston  and 
introduce  her  to  my  friends.  Try  as  I  might,  I 
could  noc  bring  myself  to  this.  *  Not  now,  at  least/ 
I  said  to  myself.  '  I  will  go  alone  for  the  first  time, 
and  pass  through  the  ordeal  of  meeting  Professor 
and  Mrs.  Marlin  before  I  take  Anna.'  So  I  told  her 
that  I  was  obliged  to  make  a  hasty  journey  to  the 


64  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FKIEOTX, 

city,  and  that  it  was  not  expedient  to  take  ner. 
Though  her  face  was  pale,  she  acceded  without  a 
word,  and  I  went  away.  But  my  tale  is  a  long  one. 
is  it  not  ?  You  are  becoming  weary." 

"On  the  contrary,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  am  growing 
Intensely  interested." 

Darrell  took  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and 
wiped  from  his  lips  the  moisture  that  had  gathered 
there. 

"  Perhaps  when  I  tell  you  what  I  learned  when  J 
reached  Boston,  you  will  mingle  a  little  pity  witip 
the  blame  which  you  must  feel  for  my  conduct. 
Shut  off  as  I  had  been  from  all  news  of  the  day — foi 
I  had  seen  no  paper  except  the  one  to  which  I  hav« 
alluded — a  very  important  event  had  been  hid  frorr 
me.  The  first  friend  I  met  after  leaving  the  station, 
said,  'Very  sad  that  about  Professor  Marlin,  wasn't 
it?  You  knew  him,  of  course.'  I  pretended  te> 
understand,  rather  than  excite  wonder  by  my  ignor 
ance,  and  going  to  my  office  I  took  down  the  file  o' 
the  Boston  Herald  that  is  always  kept  there,  and 
searched  its  columns  eagerly.  And  there  it  was, 
burning  itself  into  my  eyes,  like  a  frightful  dr**ann. 
The  story  was  to  this  effect  : 

" '  Yesterday  evening  Professor  Solomon  Marlin, 
one  of  the  most  famous  of  our  students  of  ths  science 
of  political  economy,  died  at  the  Parks-  House,  under 
peculiarly  distressing  circumstances.  He  had  gone 
to  the  hotel  in  company  with  Miss  I  aura  Casson  and 
Mr.  Melville  Currane,  J.  P.,  for  th*;  purpose  of  having 
a  marriage  ceremony  performed,  both  he  and  the 
lady  holding  views  vvh;ch  made  them  object  to  a 
religious  rite.  Mr.  Currane  informed  our  reporter 
that  the  party  partook  of  a  supper  in  one  of  the  small 
lining- rooms,  and  after  it  was  finished,  and  just  as 


«MY  NATUBE  DEMANDS  SYMPATHY."  6ft 

ne  was  about  to  put  the  necessary  questions,  the 
Professor  suddenly  complained  of  a  pain  in  the 
region  of  the  heart,  and  began  to  sink  rapidly.  Miss 
Casson,  though  naturally  much  agitated,  did  all  she 
could  for  the  stricken  man,  and  Dr.  Haskins,  who 
was  in  the  house,  came  without  a  moment's  delay, 
but  the  Professor  did  not  rally,  and  within  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  breathed  his  last.  We  learn  that  the 
funeral  will  be  entirely  private  and  that  the  inter- 
ment will  take  place  Saturday,  at  Mount  Auburn.' " 

As  he  finished  the  quotation,  throughout  which 
his  voice  trembled  perceptibly,  Darrell  continued  : 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  combination  ?  Just  as  my 
chance  of  winning  the  woman  I  loved  had  been 
made,  by  an  accident,  practically  certain,  I  had 
placed  myself  through  an  insane  act  beyond  the 
possibility  of  possessing  her.  Steadying  my  nerves 
as  well  as  I  was  able  I  went  that  evening  to  tender 
my  condolences.  She  received  me  with  all  the  cus- 
tomary grace  and  courtesy,  and  spoke  in  chastened 
tones  of  her  loss.  When  she  had  given  me  in  her 
own  words  a  description  of  all  that  occurred  at  the 
Parker  House,  she  asked  whether  my  wife  was  in  the 
city  and  expressed  a  hope  that  I  would  bring  her  to 
see  her.  Something  in  her  manner  convinced  me 
that  she  was  playing  a  very  difficult  part,  and  in  my 
state  of  mind  I  could  not  follow  her. 

"You  will  never  see  my  wife,  Miss  Casson,"  I 
cried,  impulsively.  "You  are  too  wise  not  to  know 
that  I  married  without  giving  to  her  one  particle  of 
that  perfect  love  which,  less  than  two  month*  ago,  I 
laid  at  your  feet !  The  error  I  have  committed 
brings  its  own  punishment,  when  I  return  and  'earn 
for  the  first  time  that  you  are  still  single  and  that  I 
may  never  again  \>e  in  a  position  to  ask  you  to  share 


<J6  HER   HUSBAND'S    FKIKND. 

my  life.  I  am  tied  by  the  law  and  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  break  the  bonds  I  placed  so  recklessly  upon  my 
own  limbs.  But  one  thing  I  shall  do.  I  shall  accept 
the  invitation  you  gave  me  the  last  time  I  was  here 
to  call  upon  you  as  freely  as  ever.  For  I  need,  even 
more  than  I  did  then,  all  the  kindness,  all  the  charity, 
all  the  friendship  you  offered  me." 

Miss  Casson  listened  to  me  as  if  surprised. 

"Circumstances  have  changed  since  I  gave  you 
that  invitation,"  she  said,  mildly. 

"The  alteration  is  not  so  great  as  it  appears,"  I 
replied.  "We  understood,  then,  that^z^  were  to  be 
the  married  one.  Now  it  is  /  who  am  bound.  If  I 
would  have  been  welcome  when  you  were  a  wife,  why 
shall  I  not  when  I  am  a  husband  ?  Your  meetings 
with  me  would  not  have  made  you  less  true  to  Pro- 
fessor Marlin.  They  will  not  break  my  fealty  to 
Anna  Darrell." 

Mordaunt  looked  searchingly  at  his  companion. 

"  A  most  remarkable  story,  "  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
know  what  to  say  to  you." 

"  Say  nothing,"  said  Darrell,  impetuously.  "  There 
is  nothing  for  you  to  say — nothing  that  any  word  of 
yours  would  help.  Things  have  gone  on  at  Auburn 
with  no  friction.  My  wife  has  won  my  earnest  regard 
and  my  profound  respect.  If  my  long  absences  have 
not  pleased  her,  she  has  at  least  been  wise  enough  to 
say  nothing  to  me  on  the  subject.  The  aunt  hates 
me  cordially,  but  so  she  would  had  I  been  a  husband 
of  the  most  devoted  stripe.  I  have  two  children,  a 
thing  to  be  regretted,  as  they  only  tend  to  com- 
plicate the  situation.  I  hope  and  pray  there  will  be 
no  more.  Anna  writes  me  every  week  now — she 
wrote  twice  a  week  when  I  was  in  America — and  I 
answer  most  of  her  letters.  She  is  a  good  little 


HATUKE  DEMANDS   SYMPATHY."  6T 


woman,  and  I  would  not  willingly  cause  her  a 
moment's  uneasiness.  But  there  is  no  brain-sym- 
pathy between  us.  She  is  a  country  girl,  who  has 
probably  never  given  a  thought  to  the  great  problems 
of  life,  never  even  heard  the  names  of  the  authors  I 
most  admire.  She  can  do  nothing  for  the  intel- 
lectual side  of  me,  which  Laura  Casson  fills  com- 
pletely. When  I  get  one  of  Laura's  letters  I  am 
elevated  and  inspired.  When  I  get  one  of  Anna's 
I  am  depressed  and  gloomy,  as  you  found  me  this 
morning." 

The  speaker  rose,  and  the  friends  walked  'slowly 
back  in  the  direction  of  their  hotel. 

"  It  is  apparently  quite  a  hopeless  case,"  said 
Mordaunt. 

"  Quite,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  see  no  avenue  of 
escape.  I  should  owe  everlasting  gratitude  to  the 
man  who  would  help  me  to  find  one." 

"  How  old  are  the  children  ?" 

"Alice,  the  eldest,  is  seven.  She  was  born  the 
first  year.  Ethel  is  three.  They  are  beauties,  like 
their  mother,  and  inherit  also  her  sweetness  of  char- 
acter. Thank  goodness,  they  have  no  trait  of 
mine  !" 

"  Have  you  any  of  their  pictures  with  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  them  all  in  a  group.  I  will  show  it 
to  you  when  we  get  to  the  hotel.  I  will  bring  it  in 
when  I  come  to  lunch." 

Mordaunt  began  to  have  a  strange  anxiety  to  gaze 
upon  the  photograph  of  the  wife  whose  peculiar 
story  he  had  just  heard.  He  was  glad  when  the 
lunch  was  ready,  but  he  soon  saw  that  his  friend  had 
forgotten  his  promise,  for  he  neither  produced  the  pic- 
ture nor  alluded  to  it  during  the  progress  of  the 
meal.  As  they  left  the  dining-room  Barrel! 


6$  SBB  HUHLUTD'8  FBIKNB. 

remarked  that  he  was  going  out  on  business  and 
would  probably  not  ^eturn  till  late  in  the  evening. 

Mordaunt  went  to  his  own  room,  took  up  a  novel 
and  tried  to  read.  Before  he  had  scanned  a  dozen 
pages  a  gargon  came  to  the  door  with  a  packet  that 
"  the  other  monsieur  American  "  had  sent.  It  wa» 
the  picture. 

The  likeness  of  Mrs.  Darrell  was  a  remarkably 
good  one,  and  Mordaunt  was  more  than  surprised  at 
the  beauty  which  it  revealed.  For  a  long  time  he 
held  it,  pondering  over  the  sad  fate  of  the  deserted 
wife.  Then  he  was  aroused  by  a  cablegram,  in  form- 
Ing  him  that  his  presence  was  necessary  in  New 
York  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  He  picked 
up  a  Paris  paper,  and  saw  that  one  of  the  French 
steamers  would  leave  Havre  the  following  morning 
at  an  early  hour. 

He  looked  for  some  minutes  longer  at  the  photo- 
graph, wondering  how  the  husband  of  a  wife  like 
that  .could  treat  her  and  speak  of  her  as  Darrell  had 
done.  He  liked  Darrell,  but  he  wished  he  had  never 
made  him  the  confidant  of  this  experience.  It 
showed  a  side  of  his  friend's  nature  that  he  did  not 
admire. 

Leaving  a  note  stating  the  circumstances  which 
took  him  away  so  suddenly,  he  boarded  the  evening 
train  for  Havre,  and  the  next  day  was  on  the  sea 
Nine  days  after  he  was  in  New  York,  attending  to 
the  business  that  had  brought  him  home.  And  a  week 
later  he  alighted  from  the  train  at  Auburn  and 
wrote  on  the  register  of  the  hotel  his  first  two 
names  :  "  Harold  Allen." 

He  had  decided  to  see  the  original  of  the  photo- 
graph and  do  a  little  judging  for  himself. j 


ICZ88  CASS©*   AT  BCKKB,  HP 

CHAPTER  V. 

MISS  CASSON   AT   HOME, 

The  house  that  Miss  Laura  Casson  occupied  was 
situated  on  Columbus  avenue,  a  thoroughfare  lhat 
was  expected,  by  its  most  enthusiastic  friends,  at  the 
time  of  which  I  write,  to  hold  for  many  years  the 
charm  that  has  since  deserted  it  for  the  sand-heaps 
of  the  more  aristocratic  Back  Bay.  In  1870  it  was 
considered  a  very  desirable  place  indeed,  and  Miss 
Casson's  residence  was  in  the  best  part  of  it,  only  a 
fev.'  minutes'  walk  above  Berkeley  street.  She  lived 
alone  here  with  her  servants,  devoting  her  time  to 
the  various  reforms  in  which  she  was  interested. 
Her  work  included  the  editing  of  a  magazine  which 
advocated  the  cause  of  advanced  thought,  and  which 
she  published  in  partnership  with  Edmund  Darrell. 
But  the  pleasantest  thing  to  the  public  about  her 
house  was  the  fact  that  the  doors  were  thrown  open 
on  two  evenings  of  each  week  to  a  very  bright  party 
of  people,  of  all  shades  of  belief  and  opinions,  who 
found  it  a  delightful  centre  for  the  interchange  of 
ideas,  and  the  making  of  interesting  acquaintances. 
Thursdays  there  was  usually  a  large  party  present, 
but  it  was  on  Sundays  that  the  crush  was  the 
greatest. 

Men  could  be  met  at  these  gatherings  who  had 
spent  their  youth  in  fighting  African  slavery  in  the 
Southern  States,  with  voice  and  pen ;  who  had 
labored  to  supplement  it  with  the  Fourteenth  and 
Fifteenth  amendments  to  the  Constitution  ;  ami  who 


79  HER  HUgBAXD'g   FRIEDA 

were  now  turning  their  superfluous  energy  jnto  the 

cause  of  improved  taxation,  total  abstinence,  woman 
suffrage,  or  some  other  fad  of  the  hour.  Women 
were  there  who  had  advocated  almost  everything 
from  free  divorce  to  laws  compelling  their  sex  to 
don  masculine  attire.  There  were  ex-clergymen, 
whose  broadened  views  had  lost  them  their  pulpits. 
There  were  men  who  professed  to  worship  Buddha, 
and  others  who  could  show  that  all  wisdom  had 
come  to  earth  and  died  long  before  the  birth  of  the 
Nazarene.  There  were  also,  scattered  among  these, 
business  men  of  hard  heads  and  orthodox  sentiments, 
and  young  people  who  had  no  settled  views,  but  came 
to  listen  and  learn. 

Miss  Casson  asked  only  one  thing  of  any  one  who 
advanced  a  theory  in  her  parlors — honesty.  It  mat- 
tered not  to  her  how  foreign  to  her  own  convictions 
their  doctrines  were,  if  they  were  sincere  in  present- 
ing  them.  It  was  one  of  her  sayings  that  the 
absurdity  of  to-day  is  the  accepted  truth  of 
to-morrow. 

Doubtless  many  good  Bostomans  looked  with  a 
sentiment  approaching  horror  upon  Miss  Casson 
and  her  set.  But  then  many  good  Bostonians  have 
looked  with  equal  horror  upon  some  of  the  best  and 
noblest  men  and  women  who  have  lived  within  their 
borders,  and  have  afterwards  builded  monuments  to 
them  and  sounded  their  praises  as  freely  as  once 
they  cursed  them. 

On  one  of  the  June  Sundays  when  Darrell  was 
absent  in  Paris,  let  me  introduce  the  reader,  by 
permission  of  the  hostess,  to  Miss  Casson's  parlors. 

It  was  yet  early  and  the  mistress  of  ceremonies 
had  not  made  her  appearance,  when  a  small  party 
were  ushered  into  the  rooms,  and  proceeded,  in  trut 


MISS   CASSO»    AT    HOME.  Tl 

le,  to  make  themselves  at  home.  There 
was  no  constraint  on  these  occasions,  and  very  littla 
formality.  The  early  comers  were  fou  •  in  number, 
and  they  found  seats  together,  beginning  to  talk 
with  vivacity,  though  in  very  low  tones.  A  habit  of 
devoting  a  great  deal  of  conversation  to  one's  neigh- 
bors obtains,  I  have  found,  in  "  advanced  "  circles  as 
well  as  in  those  of  ordinary  people,  and  the  members 
of  the  quartette  in  question  began  at  once  to  dis- 
cuss their  hostess  and  her  expected  guests  with 
charming  freedom. 

"  She  is  really  a  most  remarkable  woman,"  said 
one  of  the  ladies,  a  quite  young  woman  named  Miss 
Everest,  speaking  to  one  of  the  gentlemen,  who  was 
making  his  first  visit  to  the  house.  "  It  requires 
positive  genius  to  gather  such  a  set  as  one  meets 
here,  and  prevent  all  clashing.  You  will  see  her 
pour  iced  tea  for  Mr.  Teetotaller  Smith,  and  ladle 
out  claret  punch  for  Colonel  Tomnoddy  Brown,  with 
equal  grace.  She  never  forgets  the  oatmeal  biscuit 
and  fruit  for  Vegetarian  Jones,  nor  the  glass  of  hot 
water  for  Dyspepsia  Robinson.  She  will  listen  with 
the  greatest  apparent  interest  to  the  development 
of  some  idea  in  which  I  know  she  has  not  the 
slightest  faith,  and  find  in  the  bushel  of  chaff  which 
has  been  offered  to  her  some  grain  of  wheat  that  she 
can  indorse  without  too  much  strain  on  her  con- 
science. She  never  flatters,  never  bestows  praise 
where  she  does  not  think  it  deserved,  and  yet  con- 
trives to  make  each  one  feel  that  his  coming  has 
given  her  a  personal  gratification.  Her  memory  is 
perfect.  She  learns  the  particular  idiosyncracies  of 
each  of  the  hundreds  who  come  here,  and  has  the 
faculty  of  saying  the  especial  thing  that  he  would 
most  like  to  hear/ 


Mr.  Rossborough,  to  whom  these  remarks  were 
made,  looked  duly  impressed.  At  this  moment  a 
lady  and  gentleman  entered  the  room,  and  the  others 
rose  to  greet  them. 

**  Mrs.  St.  John,  my  friend  Mr.  Rossborougtu     Mt 
Rossborough,  Mr.  George  Clarkson." 

There  was  something  in  the  mention  of  the  iattet 
name  that  implied  that  Mr.  Rossborough  had  heard 
of  the  gentleman,  which  was  the  fact.  Miss  Everest 
had  taken  up  a  good  share  of  the  time  on  her  way  to 
Miss  Casson's  that  evening  in  talking  about  this 
new-comer  to  the  Casson  fold,  whose  utterances  had, 
she  said,  fascinated  the  hostess  as  no  one's  else  had 
since  Darrell  went  away. 

*  I  wonder  if  Laura  will  tell  us  any  news  about 
Mr.  Darrell  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  St.  John,  as  soon  as 
the  presentation  had  taken  place.  "  If  she  doesn't 
volunteer  something,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  ask  her 
outright.  It  is  two  months  since  he  was  here,  and 
it  is  time  she  revealed  the  secret." 

This  statement  met  with  warm  approval  from 
Miss  Symonds,  the  third  member  of  the  original 
quartette,  and  consequently  from  Mr.  Buzzell,  the 
young  man  who  accompanied  her.  Mrs.  St.  John 
was  the  only  one  present  who  was  on  sufficiently 
intimate  terms  with  Miss  Casson  to  speak  of  her  as 
**  Laura,"  which  fact  gave  her  an  importance  which 
she  fully  realized. 

14  How  long  have  you  known  Mr.  Darrell  JP  asked 
Miss  Everest,  who  did  not  have  a  very  high  opinion 
of  Mrs.  St.  John,  but  was  willing  to  use  the  advan- 
tage of  her  knowledge  for  all  that. 

Mrs.  St.  John  paused  to  sum  up. 

"It  is  fully  eight  yenrs  since  I  first  met  him* 
Laura  was  living  at  that  i..ae  on  ML  Vernon  street." 


1088  OA8RON    AT  HOMO,  78 

*  A  long  time — is  it  not— for  such  an  attachment, 

and  have  it  amount  to  nothing  tangible  ?"  suggested 
Miss  Everest. 

Mrs.  St.  John  arched  her  eyebrows  with  an  air  of 
superior  wisdom. 

**  That  is  Laura's  secret,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  But  you  know  it,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Everest, 
rather  piqued. 

"  I  know  a  thousand  things  in  this  little  world  of 
Boston,  my  dear,  that  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  repeat.** 

Mrs.  St.  John  rose  to  welcome  a  lady  who  had  just 
arrived,  and  to  whom  she  seemed  to  have  something 
of  importance  to  communicate,  and  Miss  Everest 
took  occasion  to  express  guardedly  her  doubts  as  to 
whether  some  people  knew  quite  as  many  secrets  as 
they  wished  others  to  infer. 

"  I  have  heard  a  rumor,"  said  Mr.  Rossborough, 
"  that  Mr.  Darrell  is  married." 

"  Oh,  that's  not  possible  I"  cried  Miss  Syraonds. 
*'  I  am  sure  Miss  Casson  would  not  encourage  him  so 
openly  if  he  were." 

"  I  don't  see  that  she  *  encourages  *  him  at  all," 
put  in  Miss  Everest.  **  Keeping  a  man  waiting  eight 
years  is  hardly  what  i  should  call  giving  him  much 
encouragement." 

"  I  presume  he  only  comes  the  same  as  other  men 
who  attend  her  receptions,"  remarked  Mr.  Clarkson, 
who  seemed  to  have  developed  a  sudden  interest  in 
the  conversation.  "  It  is  not  necessary,  I  suppose, 
that  she  should  promise  to  marry  every  man  whom 
she  invites  here." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  quite  another  affair,"  responded 
Miss  Symonds.  "  I  thought  everybody  knew  that 
Mr.  Darrell  was  on  special  terms.  The  rest  of 
you  come  on  Thursdays  and  Sundays,  at  &  specified 


T4  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

hour.  But  there  is  no  hour  nor  day  to  which  Edmund 
is  restricted.  He  is  the  most  intimate  friend  Miss 
Casson  has  in  the  world — much  more  intimate  than 
Mrs.  St.  John  there,  with  all  her  talk  about  '  Dear 
Laura.' " 

She  threw  a  glance  not  wholly  free  from  spite  in 
the  direction  of  the  lady  referred  to,  for  which  Miss 
Everest  mentally  thanked  her. 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Mr.  Rossborough. 
"This  intimacy,  you  say,  has  been  going  on  for 
years  r 

"Undoubtedly." 

"  And  it  causes  no  talk  ?" 

Miss  Symonds  surveyed  her  questioner  with  a  look 
of  the  blankest  amazement. 

"Talk!"  she  exclaimed,  theatrically.  "Talk!  Of 
Laura  Casson  !" 

Mr.  Rossborough  was  crushed.  Mr.  Clarkson 
drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  and  left  the  group.  A 
number  of  new  arrivals  turned  the  conversation, 
*nd  before  they  had  finished  their  mutual  greetings, 
Miss  Casson  herself  entered  the  room. 

There  are  people  whom  it  is  difficult  to  describe 
with  pen  and  paper,  and  Laura  Casson  was  certainly 
one  of  them.  It  is  easy  to  say  that  she  was  a  little 
under  the  medium  height,  of  slender  build,  neither 
dark  nor  fair,  and  twenty-eight  years  of  age  ;  but  so 
were  a  thousand  other  women  in  Boston  that 
night.  She  had  no  especial  oddity  in  dress  or  speech. 
Her  garments  were  plain  almost  to  excess,  she  wore 
no  jewelry  whatever,  and  her  manners  were  most 
unassuming.  The  only  thing  that  distinguished  her 
especially  was  the  extreme  slenderness  and  white- 
ness of  her  hands,  which  were  almost  transparent. 
They  had  a  highly  nervous  quality  that  might  hare 


CASSON    AT   HOME.  75 

delighted  one  skilled  in  the  science  of  palmistry  ; 
and  even  to  the  ordinary  observer  they  indicated  a 
highly  sensitive  organism,  with  perhaps  a  delicacy 
of  constitution. 

Why  Laura  Casson  easily  dominated  any  assembly 
of  which  she  became  a  part,  nobody  could  tell.  That 
she  did  it  nobody  pretended  to  deny.  One  by  one 
she  took  her  guests  by  the  hand  and  said  her  simple 
words  of  welcome.  Mrs.  St.  John  took  up  a  posi- 
tion at  her  side  and  introduced  those  who  attended 
the  reception  for  the  first  time.  With  a  question  or 
two  and  a  smile,  she  won  the  heart  of  each  visitor 
before  she  turned  to  the  next.  When  she  had 
greeted  every  one,  she  sought  out  Mr.  George  Clark- 
son,  and  they  had  a  quiet  talk  together,  which  no 
one  else  was  privileged  to  hear. 

"  I  have  been  wondering  why  it  is  that  you  interest 
me  so  much,"  she  said  to  him,  after  awhile,  "  and  I 
have  discovered  it  at  last.  Your  manner  of  stating 
things  reminds  me  of  a  friend  who  is  now  on  his 
travels — Mr.  Edmund  Darrell." 

"  But  /  am  noc  a  married  man,"  responded  Clark* 
son,  instantly. 

It  was  rude  ;  undoubtedly  it  was  rude.  But 
politeness  was  not  a  virtue  that  he  placed  above  all 
others,  and  he  wanted  to  know,  then  and  there, 
whether  the  suspicion  of  Mr.  Rossborough  was  true. 
He  had  never  seen  Darrell  in  his  life.  He  had  known 
Miss  Casson  but  a  month.  But  it  seemed  to  him 
that  all  worth  having  in  this  world  and  the  far 
beyond  pivoted  on  the  answer  to  that  question. 

Miss  Casson  gave  no  evidence  of  having  heard  his 
woids.  A  lady  who  had  just  entered  the  room 
smiled  at  her,  and  she  excused  herself,  with  charming 
sweetness,  to  cross  the  carpet  Clarkson  raged 


76  BBB  HUSBAND'S   FRUW*. 

inwardly  as  he  saw  how  easily  she  had  foiled  him. 

and  rose  impatiently  to  meet  Mrs.  St.  John,  who  was 
eoming  to  see  him. 

"  You  like  Miss  Casson,  don't  you  ?"  she  said. 

**  Very  much,"  he  replied.  But  in  saying  this  he 
prevaricated.  At  that  moment  he  almost  hated  her, 
and  to  save  his  life  he  could  not  have  given  a  rea- 
son. 

"  I  knew  you  would  like  her  when  I  brought  you 
here,"  continued  the  self-satisfied  lady.  "  She  likes 
you,  too.  It  is  not  often,  I  assure  you,  that  Laura 
sits  down  alone  with  any  gentleman,  as  she  did  with 
you." 

**  Except  Edmund  Darrell,"  he  said,  sulkily. 

a  Oh,  well,  that  is  a  different  thing,"  said  Mrs.  St. 
John.  "  They  own  a  magazine  together,  and — and 
there  are  various  reasons  why  she  treats  him  differ- 
ently from  the  rest.  But  Laura  likes  you,  and  I 
know  it.  She  asked  me  yesterday  if  you  were  cer- 
tain to  be  here  to-night." 

The  sulky  fit  was  on  him  and  he  tore  himself  from 
the  voluble  woman  as  soon  as  he  could  do  so.  He 
did  not  like  to  hear  her  speak  of  "  Laura,"  when  he 
roust  confine  himself  to  the  more  formal  term.  Two 
gentlemen  were  discussing  the  subject  of  cremation, 
and  were  waxing  rather  warm  over  it. 

"  I  tell  you  it  would  be  a  blow  at  our  most  tender 
feelings,"  said  one.  *'  To  burn  the  bodies  of  our  dead 
friends  seems  to  me  rank  barbarism.  Our  well-kept 
cemeteries  are  nurseries  of  religious  and  humanita- 
rian sentiments." 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Clarkson  ?"  asked  th« 
Other  gentleman.  "  Do  you  see  anything  lovely  in 
a  charnel-house  ?" 

*  Do  you  not  admire  the  beauties  of  such  places 


MISS  OASSON    A.1  HOME.  77 

as  Mt.  Auburn  and  Forest  Hills  ?"  put  in  the  first 
speaker.  "  That  is  the  question." 

"  I  do  not,"  replied  Clarkson.  "I  have  never  seen 
a  cemetery  that  I  admired.  They  are  all  too  full  of 
little  graves." 

Miss  Casson  brought  the  friend  who  had  last 
arrived  where  she  could  hear  the  disputants.  "  Did 
I  not  tell  you  he  was  very  bright  ?"  she  whispered. 

"  How  could  incineration  prevent  the  great  mor- 
tality among  children  ?"  inquired  the  gentleman. 

"It  would  not  prevent  it.  But  the  little  tomb- 
stones would  not  rise  up  against  us  as  we  pass." 

The  gentleman  declared  that  this  was  a  mere  beg- 
ging of  the  question.  But  somehow  the  new 
thought  seemed  to  have  supplanted  the  old  one,  and 
a  silence  fell  upon  the  party. 

•'  How  do  you  like  her  ?"  asked  Miss  Everest  of 
Clarkson,  when  she  got  a  chance,  soon  after,  to 
speak  to  him  alone. 

**  Who  ?  Mrs.  St.  John  ?  Oh,  she  is  very  agreea- 
ble." 

"Now  that  is  unkind,"  responded  the  young 
lady,  "  when  you  remember  that  she  first  suggested 
to  you  to  come  here,  as  she  is  telling  everybody  she 
did." 

He  was  leaning  with  one  arm  on  a  mantel,  and  half 
the  eyes  in  the  room  were  on  him,  with  one  expres- 
sion and  another. 

"  Do  you  think  I  owe  her  anything  for  that  f*  he 
asked,  without  changing  countenance. 

"  Then  you  are  not  pleased  to  be  here  P* 

"No." 

It  was  a  very  abrupt  negative  indeed,  and  Miss 
Everest's  face  wore  a  tinge  of  regret. 


78  HKE  HUSBAND'S 

position  was  such  that  no  one  could  see  that  but 
him. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "for  now 
you  will  never  come  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall." 

She  glanced  up  in  surprise. 

"  And  you  don't  like  Miss  Casson  ?** 

He  smiled.  The  lady  of  whom  they  were  speak- 
ing was  regarding  him  at  the  moment  from  a  distant 
corner  where  she  was  pretending  interest  in  the 
scheme  of  an  elderly  gentleman  to  deport  all  the 
Southern  freedmen  to  Africa.  He  thought  it 
necessary  to  smile  at  Miss  Everest,  and  he  did  so. 

"  Do  not  catechise  me  too  much  to-night,"  he  said, 
as  an  accompaniment  to  the  smilfc.  "  Remember, 
you  have  never  showed  me  that  balcony  you  told 
me  of,  and  the  garden  hung  with  Chinese  lanterns." 

She  led  the  way  gladly  through  a  little  hall.  The 
bit  of  land  in  the  rear,  in  which  a  few  trees  and 
bushes  had  been  induced  to  grow,  had  been  made 
quite  attractive  by  the  shiny  colored  paper  among 
the  branches.  It  was  marvellous  how  so  good  an 
effect  could  be  produced  by  such  a  simple  process. 

In  two  minutes  he  proposed  returning  to  the  par* 
lors.  Miss  Everest,  who  liked  the  cooler  air  of  the 
balcony,  and  was  not  averse,  either,  to  having  him  to 
herself  for  a  little  while,  complied  with  reluctance 
They  arrived  just  in  time  to  hear  a  gentleman 
named  Jannin  assailing  what  he  called  the  insane 
doctrine  of  abolishing  private  ownership  in  land. 

"When  it  comes  to  social  equality  I  am  about  as 
advanced  as  any  one,"  he  was  saying.  "I  favor 
universal  suffrage,  women  and  all,  and  the  abolition 
of  the  poll  tax.  I  think  the  government  ought  to 
the  telegraph,  the  railroads,  and  perhaps  even- 


MISS   CASSON   AT   HOME.  79 

tually  the  mines.  But  of  all  the  absurd  things  ever 
preached,  this  talk  about  sequestrating  the  soil  from 
individuals  is  the  worst.  Why,  the  desire  to  possess 
a  piece  of  real  estate  is  one  of  the  most  progressive 
signs  that  a  man  can  show.  The  one  who  has 
secured  a  house  and  lot  is  a  better  citizen  than  the 
one  who  is  content  to  pay  rent  all  his  life.  Such  a 
man  becomes  a  conservator  of  morals.  He  stands 
for  law  and  order,  as  no  rent-payer  can  ever  do.  Is 
there  any  one  here  who  will  take  issue  with  me  on 
that?"  he  asked  pompously. 

"Yes,"  said  Clarkson,  "/will." 

Mrs.  St.  John  was  standing  next  to  Miss  Casson. 

"  I  think  he  would  take  issue  with  anybody  or 
anything,"  she  whispered  ;  but  Laura  did  not  seem 
to  hear  her. 

Mr.  Jannin  eyed  Clarkson  uneasily.  He  had  not 
expected  that  answer  to  his  challenge. 

•'  In  what  way  do  you  differ  with  me,  sir  ?"  he 
inquired,  loftily. 

"  I  differ  with  what  you  imply,  as  much  as  with 
what  you  assert.  I  do  not  believe,  for  instance,  that 
law  and  order  are  always  on  the  sicU  of  right  and 
justice." 

"  Indeed  !  And  who  is  to  decide  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Jannin,  more  loftily  than  before. 

"  The  people.  By  mere  force  of  numbers  they 
will  say  before  long  whether  certain  men  shall  pre- 
tend to  own  this  earth  or  not." 

"Why  do  you  say  'pretend  ?'  "  asked  Mr.  Jannin. 
"  If  I  have  bought  a  piece  of  land  and  paid  for  it,  is 
it  not  mine  ?" 

"That  depends  on  whether  there  is  a  man,  woman 
or  child  in  the  world  whose  need  of  it  is  greater 
than  yours.  You  own,  perhaps,  a  plank  that  lies  on 


the  shore  of  a  river.  If  I  see  a  man  drowning  in  the 
stream  I  will  tak«  the  plank  and  throw  it  to  him, 
whether  you  are  willing  or  not.  Some  day  they  will 
take  your  land  and  give  it  to  a  starving  man  who 
wants  to  raise  potatoes.  How  much  land  do  you 
think  you  have  a  right  to  own  ?" 

**  All  I  can  legally  get" 

"  A  thousand  acres,  perhaps  ?** 

"Yes,  a  million/* 

"  Or  the  whole  of  the  earth's  surface  * 

Mr.  Jannin  was  a  trifle  disturbed  by  this  question, 
but  he  resolved  to  be  consistent  to  the  last. 

44  If  such  a  thing  were  conceivable,"  he  replied,  "  I 
Should  have  a  right  to  all  the  land  I  could  purchase, 
even  if  it  included  every  acre  in  the  world." 

Clarkson  was  happy  at  last.  He  loved  contro- 
versy, and  he  made  his  moves  like  a  chess  player. 

a  It  is  quite  conceivable,"  he  said.  "  We  live  in  a 
Country  where  millions  of  acres  are  already  the 
property  of  corporations.  These  acres  may  easily 
drift  into  the  control  of  a  few  men,  and  at  last  into 
single  ownership.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  at  the 
present  rate  half  of  all  the  land  in  America  might 
be  owned  by  a  hundred  individuals  in  1925.  It  is 
quite  possible  that  the  time  might  come  under  our 
present  laws  when  one  man  would  own  every  hill, 
valley  and  plain  on  this  planet.  And  you  say,  if  he 
or  his  ancestors  had  bought  it  and  paid  for  it,  he 
ought  to  have  it." 

Mr.  Jannin  uttered  a  dogged  affirmative. 

"And  this  ownership  of  his,"  continued  Clarkson, 
making  another  move  on  his  chess-board,  "  would  of 
course  include  the  right  of  deciding  what  tenants,  if 
any,  he  would  have  upon  his  land  ;  and  the  right  to 
summon  the  constituted  otficals  to  evict  all  who 


MISS    CASffON    AT    HOME.  81 

icfused  to  leave  when  notified,  even  to  the  last 
soul." 

"That's  a  fantastic  conception,  I  must  say.'" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Jannin. 

"  But,  under  the  conditions  imagined,  quite  a 
correct  one,  is  it  not  ?" 

Mr.  Jannin  did  not  reply. 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  said  Clarkson,  impressively. 
"  that  some  future  landlord  might  become  the 
arbiter  of  life  and  death  to  millions  of  people,  by 
taking  from  them  the  soil  through  which  nature 
meant  that  they  should  derive  their  sustenance  ? 
Even  in  this  century  there  have  been  famines  in 
Europe  that  might  have  been  averted,  or  at  least 
much  mitigated,  if  the  plows  had  been  permitted  to 
turn  the  sods  of  my  lord's  lawns  and  hunting  pre- 
serves. There  the  sacredness  of  property  has  ever 
been  held  above  the  sacredness  of  life,  if  the  life  was 
that  of  a  laborer.  With  all  our  boasted  freedom  in 
America  we  are  drifting  into  the  state  of  things 
that  we  have  so  freely  denounced  in  our  cousins 
over  the  water." 

Mr.  Jannin  rallied. 

"  You  are  trying  to  confuse  us,"  said  he,  M  by 
imaginative  conceits.  Let  me  put  the  question  in 
an  easier  way.  Take  the  case  of  a  man  who  has 
worked  ten  or  fifteen  years  to  pay  for  a  little  house- 
lot  and  garden,  denying  himself  and  his  family 
many  comforts  in  order  to  accomplish  that  object 
Would  you  take  away  his  land  and  give  it  to  the 
general  government,  when  it  had  become  the  staff  of 
his  old  age  ?  And  if  you  would  not  take  one  piece 
of  land,  what  right  have  you  to  take  another  ?" 

There  was  an  expression  of  triumph  in  Mr.  Jan- 
ma's  face  as  he  propounded  this  query,  which  he 


82  HER    HUSBAND'S    FKIEND. 

had  no  doubt  was  a  poser.  Miss  Casson  looked 
earnestly  at  Clarkson,  and  though  he  had  not  once 
turned  his  eyes  in  her  direction  he  knew  he  had  her 
sympathy. 

"  I  will  answer  *  No,'  in  one  word  to  your  question 
about  the  old  man,"  said  he.  "My  theory  pre-sup- 
poses  the  right  of  your  hypothetical  laborer  to  live 
on  that  lot  and  cultivate  it,  as  long  as  it  did  not 
exceed  the  measure  of  his  needs.  But  what  an 
outrage  it  is  that  he  should  have  been  put  to  such 
sacrifices  to  get  that  little  spot  to  rest  on.  He  had 
4S  much  natural  right  to  it  as  he  had  to  the  air  he 
breathed  or  the  water  he  drank.  To  get  what 
Nature  made  for  him  he  has  had  to  do  double  his 
share  of  the  world's  drudgery,  and  miss  half  the  com- 
forts and  pleasures  of  existence.  And  why  ?  Merely 
that  some  other  man  should  live  at  ease,  some 
other  family  rest  while  his  toiled  for  them.  The 
injustice  of  law  had  taken  away  his  part  of  the  soil, 
and  he  had  to  ransom  it  with  excess  of  labor.  There 
is  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  for  individuals  to 
go  about  pretending  that  certain  parts  of  the  earth's 
•urface  are  their  exclusive  property,  and  not  only 
theirs,  but  that  of  their  heirs  forever.  Our  descend- 
ants will  find  vast  amusement  in  examining,  in  some 
museum  of  the  future,  a  book  of  titles  of  the  N<ne- 
teenth  Century.  They  will  wonder  what  sort  of 
men  used  to  undertake  to  deed  to  each  other  parcels 
of  land  with  such  and  such  boundaries.  When 
they  find  a  deed  professing  to  cover  soil  enough  for 
the  maintenance  of  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  people, 
as  many  of  them  do  to-day,  their  hilarity  will  be 
uncontrollable.  For  it  wHl  seem  to  them  as  ridicu 
lou$  to  have  sold  exclusive  rights  in  the  earth,  as  it 
would  in  the  atmosphere  or  the  sunlight.'* 


MISS  OASSOST  AT  HOMB.  99 

Mr.  Jannin  fell  back  upon  a  common  retort. 

"  You  will  never  live  to  see  that  day." 

"  But  it  is  coming  for  all  that,"  replied  Clarkson, 
confidently. 

At  this  point  the  lunch  was  served.  Miss  Casson 
thinking  that  the  debate  was  likely  to  reach  too 
warm  a  plane,  had  whispered  the  directions  to  her 
maid.  The  sideboard,  which  stood  in  a  little  recess, 
from  which  the  curtains  were  now  drawn,  con- 
tained an  assortment  of  wines  and  liquors,  while 
the  table  adjacent  had  tea,  coffee  and  chocolate, 
both  hot  and  iced.  Miss  Casson  had  helped  Clark- 
son  with  her  own  hands  to  some  of  the  more  solid 
refreshments. 

"  You  take  brandy,  I  believe,"  she  said. 

"Sometimes,"  he  replied.  "And  sometimes  1 
take  champagne  ;  and  sometimes  beer.  To-night, 
sherry,  if  you  please." 

She  handed  him  the  decanter  and  glass,  and  as  he 
poured  out  the  wine,  she  said  : 

"  That  really  requires  an  explanation." 

"  Oh,  it  depends  on  how  I  feel,"  said  he,  lightly. 
"If  I  have  special  need  of  mental  strength  I  drink 
brandy.  But  to-night  I  knew  that  you  were  listening 
to  every  word  I  uttered,  and  my  powers  wanted 
no  greater  stimulus.  When  I  only  wish  to  talk  of 
commonplace  things  I  drink  beer  :  but  this  is  not  the 
presence  of  the  commonplace.  When  I  am  with  a 
woman  I  love" — he  spoke  slowly  and  distinctly,  but 
very  low  indeed — "  I  want  champagne,  because  it  is 
love's  drink.  To-night  I  drink  sherry,  which  means 
— nothing." 

She  heard,  she  understood,  but  ishe  gave  no  sign. 

"  Never  the  still  lighter  drinks  ?"  she  asked,  to 
keep  him  talking. 


84  BBS  HUSBAND'S  ntranx 

"  Yes,  I  take  coffee  when  I  awake  in  the  morning 
and  after  dinner ;  chocolate  when  I  visit,  once  a 
year,  an  old  aunt,  who  offers  me  nothing  else ;  and 
tea  invariably  when  I  am  the  guest  of  a  lady  who 
intends  to  always  lead  a  single  life." 

A  gentleman  who  was  eating  an  ice  near  by  spoke 
to  Miss  Casson,  who  turned  for  a  moment  to  reply. 
She  also  saw  that  Mrs.  St  John  was  helping  those  of 
the  guests  who  were  not  yet  sufficiently  at  home  to 
help  themselves. 

"Tell  me  one  thing,  if  you  can,"  said  Clarkson, 
when  he  had  her  attention  again.  "  Why  is  it  that 
bright  women  who  are  single  always  prefer  the 
company  of  married  men  ?" 

She  looked  the  picture  of  unconsciousness,  and 
shook  her  head  thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  not  good  at  riddles.  You  will  have  to  tell 
me." 

"  And  you  don't  know,  really  ?" 

"  No.  I  never  could  guess  conundrums.  But 
there  is  Miss  Everest  getting  ready  to  leave,  and  I 
suppose  she  will  not  thank  me  for  keeping  you." 

He  bit  his  lips  in  suppressed  anger. 

"  She  came  with  Mr.  Rossborough,"  he  said. 

"  So  she  did.  How  stupid  of  me.  It  was  Mrs. 
St.  John,  of  course.  By-the-way,  I  liked  what  you 
said  to  Mr.  Jannin.  I  wish  Mr.  Darrell  could  know 
you.  You  have  many  ideas  in  common." 

"  When  will  he  return  ?"  he  asked,  darkly 

"  Not  before  September,  I  fear." 

**  It  must  be  lonesome  for  you." 

A  clear  impertinence  this,  but  she  did  not  seem  to 
mind  it. 

"  I  am  too  busy  to  be  lonesome,"  she  replied. 
"  My  magazine  takes  up  a  great  deal  of  my  time.  I 


MISS  CA8SOS  AT  HOME.  §0 

wi«h,**  she  added,  "  that  you  would  write  something 
for  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  will,"  he  answered.  "  And  shall  I 
bring  it  here  and  read  it  to  you  when  it  is  ready  ?" 

"I  am  only  at  home  Thursday  and  Sunday  even- 
ings, you  see,  and  there  is  always  a  crowd.  It 
k  would  be  better,  I  think,  to  mail  it." 

More  people  were  beginning  to  leave,  and  she  had 
to  divert  her  attention  from  him  for  a  little  while. 
He  wished  he  could  control  his  impetuosity  better, 
as  he  compared  it  to  her  self-possession.  Mrs.  St.  John 
was  waiting  for  him,  and  it  was  necessary  to  accom- 
pany her  home.  When  there  was  a  place  made  in 
the  group  that  surrounded  Miss  Casson,  he  put  out 
his  hand  like  the  rest. 

"  Must  you  go  ?"  she  said.  "  It  is  early  yet.  I 
hope  I  shall  see  you  often.  Good-night.  Good- 
night, Mrs.  St.  John." 

It  is  marvellous  with  what  ease  a  clever  woman 
can  exhibit  regret  at  your  departure,  express  the 
wish  that  you  would  prolong  your  stay,  and  dismiss 
you  irrevocably — all  in  one  sentence.  Clarkson 
noticed  Miss  Casson's  facility  in  this  direction,  and 
decided  that  she  was  wholly  heartless. 

But  if  she  were,  why  did  she  go  to  her  bed-room, 
after  the  last  guest  had  left,  and  throw  herself  in  a 
passionate  paroxysm  on  her  pillow  ? 

Why  did  she  arise,  after  a  long  time  had  passed, 
and  sit  by  her  window  with  her  white  and  nervous 
hands  clasped  so  tightly  together,  and  her  cyea 
axed,  hot  and  staring,  on  vacancy  ? 

Why,  if  she  were  wholly  heartless  ? 


HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIBKB. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  MAY    WE    PRAY    fOR   YOU  ?* 

Harold  Mordaunt  was  the  son  of  a  man  of  wealth. 
He  was  also  the  grandson  of  a  man  of  wealth,  and 
the  nephew  of  a  woman  of  wealth,  all  of  whom  had 
remembered  him  liberally  in  their  testaments.  This 
being  the  case,  he  saw  no  reason  why  he  should 
devote  his  life  to  increasing  his  money,  especially 
when  the  beneficent  laws  of  the  land  had  arranged 
all  that  matter  for  him  with  no  trouble  whatever  on 
his  part.  After  leaving  college  he  studied  medicine, 
but  practiced  only  in  hospitals.  Upon  receiving  his 
degree  in  a  German  university  he  took  to  travel  as 
a  pleasant  mode  of  spending  his  time.  He  became 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  principal  cities  of  Europe 
and  his  own  country,  and  even  penetrated  into  the 
more  civilized  parts  of  Africa  and  Asia.  He  was 
not  the  sort  of  man  who  finds  his  amusement  in 
spearing  boats  or  hunting  tigers.  An  interesting 
book  and  a  hammock  suited  him  better  than  a  wild 
chase  across  country  with  an  enraged  elephant  in 
pursuit.  He  preferred  a  box  at  the  opera  to  a  climb 
over  mountains,  and  a  chat  with  an  entertaining 
woman  to  reeling  up  a  line  with  any  other  descrip- 
tion of  game-fish  at  the  opposite  end. 

He  was  strongly  built  and  athletic,  for  all  that, 
and  rather  handsome,  in  a  way.  All  women  called 
him  so,  at  least,  and  they  are  the  better  judges.  In 
dress  h«  was  mindful  of  effects,  though  by  no  meani 


"  MAT   WB   PBAT  FOB  YOU?"  W 

a  fop.  Few  men  can  afford  to  assume  superiority  to 
clothes,  and  he  never  attempted  it. 

Though  he  had  known  wgmen  of  many  lands,  he 
had  never  thought  it  necessary  to  fall  in  love  with 
any  of  them.  If  he  had  more  than  once  threaded 
the  mazes  of  a  mild  flirtation,  he  had  never  seen  a 
girl  who  "  frighted  sleep "  from  his  eyelids.  He 
liked  bright  women,  and  he  liked  good  oysters,  but 
he  would  almost  as  soon  have  thought  seriously  of 
proposing  marriage  to  one  as  to  the  other. 

"  Life  is  a  game  that  should  be  played  for  all  it  is 
worth,"  said  a  friend  to  him  once,  while  urging  him 
to  take  a  marital  partner. 

"  I  think  I  will  have  to  call  the  game  a  draw,"  he 
had  replied,  with  a  laugh. 

It  was  Henry  Ward  Beecher  who  said,  "  If  you 
have  only  a  dollar  to  spend,  spend  it  like  a  king." 
Mordaunt  had  many  dollars  to  spend,  and  he  spent 
them  quite  royally  on  occasion,  though  his  tastes 
were  not  of  the  most  expensive  kind.  He  was  quite 
generous  with  the  money  he  had  never  earned,  and 
had  much  rather  subscribe  to  a  charity  or  hand  a 
street-beggar  a  piece  of  money  than  investigate  the 
merits  of  the  application.  Blessed  with  health  that 
never  failed  him  and  with  spirits  that  seldom  fell,  he 
could  not  understand  why  so  many  people  found 
life  a  burden.  "  If  I  had  been  born  into  the  lower 
strata,"  he  used  to  say  to  himself,  "  I  would  struggle 
with  my  unlucky  stars  till  I  got  out  of  it,  as  no 
doubt  some  ancestor  of  mine  did  for  me.  As  there 
is  no  need  of  exertion  I  should  be  a  dunce  to  enter 
the  turmoil." 

Why  had  he  taken  this  trip  to  Auburn  ?  It  was  as 
unlike  him  as  anything  that  could  be  conceived. 
Certainly  he  had  no  idea  of  making  trouble  in  the 


$8  HIS  HITSB-UrcTS   FRIEND, 


family  of  his  oldest  friend.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of  honor  and  chivalry  in  all  his  dealings  with  those 
whom  he  considered  his  social  equals.  But  idleness 
is  responsible  for  many  strange  actions. 

**  What  do  you  consider  the  most  desirable  thing 
in  life  ?"  Edmund  Darrell  had  asked  him,  when 
they  were  having  one  of  their  discussions  in  Paris, 

**A  new  sensation,"  had  been  the  unhesitating 
reply. 

Mordaunt  needed  a  new  sensation.  Agreeable  as 
is  elegant  leisure  in  itself,  the  man  who  has  Anglo- 
Saxon  blood  in  his  veins  can  hardly  help  being 
ennuied  after  a  while.  The  dolce  far  niente  that  con- 
tents the  Italian  will  weary  the  American  in  time. 
Mordaunt  realized  that  there  was  something  very 
peculiar  in  the  experience  of  his  friend  Darrell.  He 
pronounced  it  positively  unique  in  the  list  of  marital 
incompatabilities  he  had  heard  or  read  of.  He  could 
not  imagine  a  more  interesting  study  than  was  to  be 
afforded  by  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  two 
women  who  swayed  that  hard-headed  Communist, 
so  difficult  to  influence  in  everything  else.  The  face 
of  the  wife  presented,  in  the  picture  of  her  that  he 
had  seen,  the  paradox  of  being  contented  with  her 
lot,  and  yet  of  being  just  the  sort  of  woman  who 
would  not  be  at  all  pleased  with  the  state  of  affairs 
that  the  husband  had  detailed.  He  had  always  had 
a  theory  that  a  woman  ought  to  be  able  to  hold  her 
husband's  love  by  the  sheer  force  of  her  wifehood  ; 
in  other  words  that,  if  she  lost  him,  it  must  be,  in 
some  measure,  her  own  fault.  And  so  the  wife  he 
had  seen  in  that  picture  seemed  to  this  man  of 
leisure  worth  a  few  weeks  of  study. 

He  was  not  fond  of  doing  things  in  an  under- 
handed way,  either  ;  but  there  seemed  no  open  way 


"MAY  WE  PRAY  FOB  YOU?**  8$ 

to  do  this  particular  thing.  He  could  not  say  to 
Darrell,  "  I  am  going  to  Auburn  to  see  your  wife, 
and  afterwards  to  Boston  to  compare  Miss  Casson 
with  her,  and  discover,  if  I  can,  what  it  is  that 
attracts  you  to  the  one  and  causes  you  to  neglect  the 
other." 

It  was  a  case  where  secrecy  was  a  prime  necessity. 

Mordaunt  knew  that  all  he  would  have  to  sa/, 
when  his  surreptitious  visits  were  discovered  wa* 
this:  "It  was  all  in  your  interest,  my  dear  boy 
Things  were  in  a  deuced  muddle,  you  know,  and  I 
thought  I  might  manage  to  help  straighten  them 
out."  Edmund  might  demur  a  little  at  first,  but  iv 
any  case  there  could  be  no  serious  outcome.  The 
two  men  were  too  good  friends  for  that. 

Landlord  Upham  of  the  Auburn  House  took  a 
great  fancy  to  Mordaunt,  or  "  Mr.  Allen,"  as  he  called 
himself,  and  before  his  guest  had  been  there  three 
days  he  was  beguiled  into  no  end  of  gossip  concern- 
ing the  Darrell  family. 

"  That's  a  mighty  curi's  case,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  don't 
s'pose  anybody  in  the  village  jest  rightly  understands 
it.  She  was  the  purtiest  girl  in  Auburn,  an'  she's  a 
good  way  yet  from  bein'  homely.  They've  got  two 
jf  the  nicest  children  I  ever  see.  He  pervides 
iib'raily,  but  he  ain't  never  taken  his  wife  out  of 
town  once,  an'  it's  so  seldom  he  comes  here  that 
some  of  the  u*.  ;*  res'dents  ain't  never  seen  him.  It 
was  jest  four  times  last  year  that  he  dropped  into 
the  town  at  all,  an'  then  only  from  one  train  to 
'.nother,  as  one  might  call  it.  People  uster  ask 
Ai».:-* — we  all  call  her  Ar.na — about  it  at  first,  but 
all  she  v,  'd  say  was  '  that  ilk  business  was  drivinV 

"Mrs.  Dar»-3li  hrjs  an  aw*  Here,  has  the 
asked  Allen. 


90  HER  HUSBAND'S  FKIEXD. 

"Yes,  an*  an  uncle,  too,  for  that  matter,  though 
nobody  ever  pays  any  attention  to  him.  Old  Miss 
Burton  is  a  keen  'un,  I  tell  you.  For  months  after 
Anna  was  married  she  wouldn't  go  near  her  at  all, 
an'  I've  jest  heard  there's  ben  another  fallin'  out. 
Lawyer  Arnold's  ben  down  there,  an'  everybody  says 
she's  had  a  new  will  made  disinheritin'  Anna. 
They're  both  well  fixed — Miss  Burton  an'  Ephraim 
— but  Miss  Burton  can't  git  over  the  marriage.  It 
didn't  suit  her,  an'  it  don't  suit  her,  an'  I'm  afeared 
Anna's  goin'  to  lose  a  nice  fortin' ;  nigh  onter  two 
hundred  thousand,  folks  say." 

Mordaunt  looked  highly  interested. 

"Perhaps  the  aunt  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  trouble 
between  Darrell  and  his  wife,"  he  suggested. 

"No,  'tain't  that,"  replied  the  landlord.  "The 
fact  is,  there  don't  seem  to  be  no  trouble  between 
'em.  Before  he'd  ben  married  a  fortnight,  he  went 
off  an'  stayed  a  month.  They  boarded  right  here 
in  my  house.  Most  everybody  thought  they  was 
goin'  to  break  up,  then  an'  there.  But  the  day  he 
come  back  she  run  down  the  stairs  to  meet  'im,  an* 
they  was  as  lovin'  as  two  kittens.  Then  off  he  went 
ag'in,  an'  the  next  time  he  come  it  was  three  months 
I  guess.  He  bought  her  the  house  she  lives  in  now, 
though,  that  time — paid  more'n  three  thousand  dol- 
lars out  fixin*  it  up,  too.  The  neighbors  say  she 
seems  awful  glad  to  see  him  when  he  does  come,  an* 
nobody  understands  what  makes  him  stay  away  so 
much." 

On  learning  that  his  guest  would  like  to  meet 
Mrs.  Darrell,  the  landlord  said  nothing  would  be 
easier. 

"We  don't  go  much  on  introducin*  here  in 
Auburn."  said  he,  "an'  Anna  ain't  no  more  stuck  up 


"  MAY   WE   PEAT   FOB  YOU  f*  W 

cnan  she  ever  was.  You  jest  open  her  gate,  knock 
at  the  door,  an'  say  I  sent  you,  an'  you'll  be  wel- 
come." 

This  apparently  easy  plan  did  not,  however,  on 
the  whole,  commend  itself  to  Mordaunt's  judgment. 
An  opportunity  that  had  more  in  its  favor  came  on 
the  succeeding  Sunday,  when  Mrs.  Upham  pointed 
Anna  out  to  him,  as  he  sat  with  her  and  her  hus- 
band, in  their  pew  in  the  First  Congregational 
Church. 

Mr.  Upham  was  not,  by  any  means,  a  religious 
man,  but  Auburn  was  a  very  moral  place,  and  he 
considered  it  policy  to  hire  a  pew  in  the  principal 
church,  and  occasionally,  at  least,  occupy  it.  If  Jim 
Brodie,  his  chief  stableman,  was  engaged  during  the 
same  hour  in  "  hitching  up  rigs  "  for  the  more  godless 
of  the  population,  or  if  his  chief  clerk  filled  on  the 
sly  a  few  bottles  and  jugs  from  -a  hidden  store  in  the 
cellar,  Mr.  Upham's  presence  at  divine  worship 
proved  that  he,  at  least,  had  no  part  in  the  sinful 
proceedings.  A  former  owner  of  the  same  hotel 
who  had  been  free  to  express  his  contempt  for 
things  sacred,  frequently  languished  in  durance  for 
violations  of  the  liquor  laws.  It  was  observed  of  Mr. 
Upham  that  he  "  knew  how  to  use  judgment,"  and 
even  the  most  ardent  of  the  temperance  men  admitted 
that  if  was  a  good  thing  to  know  where  a  little 
of  the  "  ardent  "  could  be  got  in  a  hurry,  "  in  case 
of  sickness."  Once  a  minister's  life  had  been  saved 
by  a  dose  of  the  landlord's  brandy,  "bottled  for 
private  use,"  and  soon  after  that  the  same  malady 
attacked  a  large  part  of  the  congregation,  happily, 
however — thanks  to  the  brandy — without  fatal 
result. 

Anna  Darrell   sat  where  Mordaunt  could  see  her 


M  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

profile  without  changing  his  attitude.  He  looked  at 
her  a  good  deal,  remarking  how  much  handsomer  she 
was  than  her  photograph,  which  could  not  reproduce 
the  lovely  whites  and  reds  of  her  perfect  complexion. 
What  the  sermon  was  about  he  had  not  the  least 
idea.  She  seemed  a  devout  listener  to  the  words  of 
the  clergyman,  but  Mordaunt  could  not  help 
wondering  if  her  thoughts  were  not  far  away  across 
the  sea.  That  that  woman,  in  her  youth  and  beauty, 
could  be  content  with  the  life  she  led,  did  not  seem 
to  him  reasonable  from  any  point  of  view. 

When  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  he  asked 
Mrs.  Upham  to  give  him  an  introduction  to  Mrs. 
Darrell,  and  at  the  church  door  the  presentation 
took  place  in  the  off-hand  country  fashion.  The 
plan  of  introducing  gentlemen  to  ladies  only  on 
request  of  the  latter  does  not  prevail  in  Auburn. 

The  ceremony,  insignificant  in  itself,  was  quite 
enough,  according  to  local  usage,  to  justify  Mordaunt 
in  raising  his  hat  and  saying  "  Good-evening,"  as  he 
passed  Mrs.  Darrell's  residence,  "  quite  by  accident," 
toward  sunset  that  same  day.  She  was  sitting 
alone  under  the  trees  inside  her  grounds,  reading — 
or  pretending  to  read — a  newspaper.  Now  or  never, 
he  thought.  When  she  had  returned  his  salutation, 
he  said  * 

"  You   have   a  pleasant  home  here,  Mrs.  Darrell." 

**  Yes,  it  is  called  so." 

He  decided  at  once  that  she  was  pensive,  and  he 
wanted  more  than  ever  to  know  all  about  her. 

"All  of  Auburn  seems  very  pretty,"  he  went  on. 
"  In  fact,  I  quite  envy  the  people  who  have  perma- 
nent homes  here." 

It  was  not  wholly  a  new  idea.  She  had  heard  sum- 
boarders  at  the  hotel  say  much  the  same  thin£ 


"MAT  wa  FRAY  FOB  YOU?"  98 

*  Won't  you  come  in  ?"  she  asked,  rising  and 
approaching  the  gate. 

In  Arcadian  Auburn  this  was  the  eminently  proper 
ehing  to  do  for  a  stranger  who  had  been  met  infor- 
mally for  the  first  time  five  hours  before. 

Mordaunt  thanked  her,  made  some  remark  about 
the  inviting  coolness  of  the  shade  trees,  and  took  a 
seat  on  one  of  the  benches. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  "  the  situation  of  this  village 
is  truly  delightful.  The  lake,  river  and  hill  scenery 
is  perfectly  charming.  I  can  hardly  recall  a  prettier 
spot." 

"  And  you  have,  perhaps,  travelled  a  great  deal  ?" 
she  said,  drawing  a  natural  inference, 

"Yes,  considerable." 

"  Across  the  sea  ?" 

Her  thoughts  were,  then,  where  he  had  guessed, 
when  he  saw  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  minister.  She 
was  certainly  pensive. 

He  answered  that  he  had  been  across  the  sea  sev- 
eral times  and  was  acquainted  with  many  countries, 

"  You  have  seen  Paris,  of  course." 

There  was  so  much  more  to  him  in  this  question 
than  appeared  on  the  surface  that  it  disconcerted 
him  for  a  moment.  A  strange  idea  came  into  his 
head.  He  wished  that  he  could  take  Edmund 
Darrell  by  the  collar  and  ask  him  what  he  meant  by 
his  neglect  of  this  lovely  creature,  carried  on  for 
years  without  regret  or  shame.  Then  he  noticed 
that  she  was  waiting  for  his  answer. 

"  I  know  Paris  from  one  end  to  the  other.  It  is  a 
most  beautiful  city.  I  wish  you  could  see  it." 

"  It  is  prettier  than  Auburn,  is  it  not  ?" 

He  realized  that  the  question  was  satirical,  but  he 
pretended  not  to  notice 


"  It  is  quite  different,  you  know.  Paris  has  two 
million  people.  It  is  more  like  Boston,  or  New 
York,  and  yet  much  finer  than  either.  I  have  a 
book  at  the  hotel,  with  many  elegant  views  of  Paris 
and  long  descriptions  of  the  sights,  which  1  shall  be 
glad  to  bring  you,  if  you  wish." 

She  thanked  him  quietly,  and  he  ventured  to  ask 
what  especially  interested  ner  in  Paris. 

"  My  husband  is  there,"  she  answered  ;  but  he 
could  make  nothing  of  the  words  beyond  their 
ordinary  significance. 

"  Indeed  !  Has  he  been  long  away  ?"  asked  the 
dissembler,  with  a  facility  that  astonished  even 
himself. 

"He  left  home  three  months  ago.  He  stayed  a 
few  weeks  in  London,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  he 
has  been  in  Paris." 

"And  does  he  intend  to  stay  much  longer  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

The  new  sensation  that  Mordaunt  wanted  was 
coming  to  him  with  a  vengeance.  Never  had  he  felt 
as  he  did  when  he  heard  this  wife  speak  of  her  hus- 
band as  if  he  were  a  mere  acquaintance,  of  whose 
movements  she  could  not  be  expected  to  have 
accurate  information.  He  listened  in  vain  for  any 
trace  of  bitterness,  and  his  wonder  grew  with  every 
word  she  uttered. 

"  It  is  strange  to  me  that  you  should  not  have 
wanted  to  go  with  him,"  he  said,  guardedly.  "  Most 
women  regard  a  trip  to  Paris — a  first  trip — as  the 
event  of  a  lifetime.  But,"  he  added,  before  she 
could  speak,  "  I  forgot  You  have  young  children, 
1  believe  ?" 

She  assented,  and  gave  him  their  ages 

"Then  yoa  could  easily  have  taken  them,'    per- 


"  MAY   WE   PRAY   TOE,   YOU  f**  95 

sued  the  relentless  man.  "I  have  crossed  in 
steamers  where  there  were  twenty  or  thirty  children. 
They  are  as  happy  playing  about  the  decks  and 
cabins  as  any  of  the  older  people.  Let  me  urge  you 
not  to  neglect  such  a  chance  again." 

She  received  this  in  silence,  and  he  began  to  con 
ceive  a  great  respect  for  her.  It  was  more  than 
loyal — this  clever  concealment  of  her  thoughts — it 
was  artistic. 

"  Ah,  Paris  is  indeed  lovely !"  he  cried,  throwing 
back  his  head  as  if  in  reverie.  "  The  streets  are  so 
long  and  broad  ;  the  public  squares  are  filled  with 
such  fountains,  statues  and  beds  of  bright  flowers  ; 
the  parks  are  so  superb  !  The  river,  winding  almost 
all  around  the  city,  is  walled  with  white  stone  and 
crossed  bv  many  bridges,  under  which  the  pleasure 
boats  dart  like  swallows.  At  night  innumerable 
lamps  illumine  the  boulevards,  where  thousands  of 
men  and  women  sit  out  of  doors  at  little  tables,  eat- 
ing, drinking  and  chatting,  while  the  musicians  play 
inside  the  cafes.  Life  in  Paris  is  one  perpetual 
holiday.  I  do  not  wonder  that  your  husband  finds 
it  hard  to  leave  there." 

Anna  Darrell  was  much  too  guileless  to  suspect 
the  deceit  of  which  she  was  the  victim.  She  was 
not  satisfied — she  never  had  been  since  that  day 
when  her  aunt  had  poisoned  her  ears  with  her  insin- 
uations— that  Edmund  was  all  he  should  be.  But 
she  certainly  had  no  intention  of  communicating 
her  fears  to  this  stranger.  So  she  answered  him 
that  her  husband  was  an  inventor  who  had  gone 
abroad  on  business  solely,  and  would  undoubtedly 
return  as  soon  as  it  was  finished. 

"Many  a  man  has  gone  to  Paris  with  that  inten- 
tion and  failed  to  carry  it  out,"  smiled  Mordaunt. 


"  The  gayety  of  the  city  affects  one  until  be 
bear  to  awake  from  the  delightful  dream.  Take  my 
advice,  Mrs.  Darrell,  and  see  it  next  time  for  yourself. 
When  you  have  done  so  you  will  be  less  likely  to 
criticise  other  poor  mortals  for  their  infatuation." 

Thinking  that  it  would  not  be  wise  to  make  too 
long  a  stay  the  first  time,  he  remarked  that  the 
evening  was  going  to  be  lovely,  and  rose  to  go.  The 
usual  civil  request  "  not  to  be  in  a  hurry  "  was  given 
and  met,  and  then  she  parted  from  him  with  the 
same  dignity  and  courtesy  with  which  she  had  badt 
him  welcome. 

"  The  case  grows  queerer,"  mused  the  young  man 
to  himself,  as  he  strolled  along  a  footpath  that  led 
into  the  adjacent  woods.  "One  would  think  that 
woman  just  the  kind  that  a  fellow  like  Darrell 
would  want  for  a  wife — provided  he  wanted  one  at 
all,  which  I  could  never  see  the  object  of.  He  said 
something  about  needing  a  '  brain  companion.' 
Now,  that's  nonsense.  A  man  whose  brains  are  in  a 
constant  state  of  excitement,  needs  a  quiet,  sweet- 
tempered  little  woman  like  that  one,  who  will  give 
him  an  occasional  chance  to  recuperate,  instead  of 
always  •  talking  shop '  when  he  needs  a  rest.  She's 
pretty — almost  handsome — to  begin  with.  She's  not 
up  in  the  ways  of  fashion,  of  course — how  the  deuce 
should  she  be  when  she  was  never  outside  the 
county  in  her  life  ?  She's  not  well-read,  though  by 
this  time  that  has  become  more  his  fault  than  hers. 
I'll  be  bound  that  cross  old  aunt  never  saw  the  use 
of  offering  her  a  book.  She's  naturally  bright,  and 
would,  respond  to  cultivation,  unless  I  am  awfully 
mistaken.  If  I  can  get  on  sufficiently  brotherly 
terms  I'll  talk  Uterature  to  her,  and  see  what  shi 


"MAT  WE  PKAY  FOB  YOU?"  9"< 

•ays.      I  wonder  how  much  she  doee  know,  any- 
way." 

The  next  morning  &  letter  came  to  him  from  Dar- 
rell,  forwarded  from  his  permanent  address  in  New 
York,  expressing  regret  at  the  circumstance  that 
had  compelled  him  to  leave  Europe  so  suddenly, 
and  declaring  that  Paris  lost  half  its  charm  without 
him.  There  was  something  else  in  the  letter,  also,  that 
was  of  greater  interest  to  the  recipient.  Darrell 
had  decided,  he  wrote,  to  go  to  Germany  and 
attend  to  his  business  there  in  person,  instead  of 
leaving  it  to  his  solicitors,  as  he  had  purposed. 
He  feared  this  would  keep  him  abroad  for  several 
months  longer,  but  it  seemed  the  advisable  thing 
to  do.  The  letter  ended  with  these  words  : 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  sending  your  address 
to  Miss  Laura  Casson,  the  Boston  lady  of  whom  I 
spoke  to  you,  with  the  information  that  you  are 
likely  (.o  be  in  that  city  at  some  time,  and  that  she 
should  send  you  a  card  of  invitation  to  her  soirees. 
I  have  frankly  told  her  that  you  are  a  man  whom 
nobody  need  hope  to  convert  into  a  progressivist, 
but  that  you  are,  after  all,  a  very  good  fellow,  and  I 
would  like  to  have  her  meet  you.  Of  course  you  are 
under  no  obligations  to  accept — if  you  get  the  card 
— and  not  obliged  to  like  her  or  the  crowd  you  will 
meei  there.  But  I  would  go,  if  I  were  you." 

Mordaunt  was  well  pleased  with  this  paragraph. 
He  was  in  no  hurry  to  have  Darrell  return  to 
America,  and  an  invitation  direct  to  Miss  Casson's 
wculd  spare  him  the  trouble  of  hunting  for  one  in  a 
roundabout  way,  as  he  had  intended  to  do. 

"A  double  stroke  of  iuck  !"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  finished  reading  the  er-istle.  "  And  yet,  what  the 
dickens  is  the  whole  thing  to  me  anyway?" 


98  HER   HUSBAND'S   FfilEND. 

He  whiled  away  the  day  at  a  billiard  table,  with  a 
drummer  who  was  waiting  over  to  see  a  customer, 
an  1  when  it  was  nearly  dark  he  took  the  book  about 
Paris  under  his  arm  and  sauntered  down  to  Mrs. 
Darrell's  house.  A  servant  showed  him  into  the 
parlor,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Anna  entered  and 
greeted  him  cordially.  He  exhibited  the  book,  as 
his  excuse  for  calling,  and  when  the  lamps  were  lit 
he  turned  some  of  the  pages  for  her  and  talked 
about  the  illustrations.  She  told  him  the  name  of 
hei  husband's  hotel — as  if  he  didn't  know  ! — and  he 
found  several  pictures  of  scenes  in  the  vicinity,  with 
which  she  was  greatly  interested. 

*  In  five  minutes  he  could  walk  to  the  Avenue  de 
I'Opera,  that  you  see  here,"  he  explained.  "  He  can 
look  from  his  window  on  the  Colonne  Vendome, 
built  to  commemmorate  the  victories  of  Napoleon  I. 
If  he  wants  a  little  stroll  before  breakfast  it  will  not 
be  too  much  to  walk  around  the  Louvre,  and  return 
by  the  gardens  of  the  Tuilleries." 

Thus  he  went  on,  turning  the  leaves  and  making 
his  comments,  in  the  easy  way  he  knew  so  well,  and 
he  found  her  much  more  deeply  interested  in  it  all 
than  he  had  expected.  She  interpolated  very  few 
questions,  but  she  made  a  delightful  listener,  and 
was  evidently  grateful  to  him  for  the  pains  he  had 
taken. 

While  they  were  thus  engaged,  a  nurse  called 
Mrs.  Darrell  away  for  a  few  moments,  and  when  she 
returned  she  told  him  that  she  had  been  to  kiss  her 
children  good-night.  Upon  which  he  begged  her, 
if  it.  was  not  too  late,  to  allow  them  to  come  in  for  a 
minute. 

Alice,  the  elder,  was  dark — not  too  dark — like  her 
mother,  while  Ethel  w«  r«ry  fair.  They  were 


*  MAT  W*  MAT   FOB  TOU  f  9% 

pretty  children  and  they  went  to  the  stranger  with- 
out constraint.  They  had  never  been  taught  the 
art  of  shyness. 

"And  you  go  to  school,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to 
Alice,  after  distributing  at  random  a  few  mild  com- 
pliments. 

"  No,  sir,  not  yet,"  she  answered.  "  But  mamma 
has  taught  me  to  read,  and  Lucy,  my  nurse,  tells 
me  a  good  many  things  about  the  earth  and  the 
sky.  I  shall  go  to  school  next  year,  I  think." 

The  mother  met  the  inquiring  eyes  with  an  affirma- 
tive smile. 

"  I  have  been  showing  your  mamma  a  book  of 
pictures  of  the  city  where  your  papa  is  staying," 
said  Mordaunt,  unable  to  repress  his  anxiety  to  hear 
what  the  child  had  to  say  on  the  all-important  sub- 
ject that  weighed  on  his  mind.  "  I  hope  she  will 
let  you  see  it  to-morrow." 

Alice's  eyes  dilated  and  her  face  grew  radiant. 

"  Oh,  shall  I  see  the  very  house  he  is  in  ?"  she 
Cried,  clapping  her  hands.  "  Please,  mamma,  show 
me  just  that  one  picture  to-night !" 

As  no  objection  was  raised,  Mordaunt  took  the 
book  and  opened  it. 

"I  cannot  show  you  the  very  hotel  he  lives  in," 
said  he,  as  Alice  leaned  over  his  shoulder  in  feverish 
expectation.  "  But  if  you  were  on  this  avenue  that 
you  see  here," — pointing  to  the  Opera — "and  were 
to  turn  that  corner  and  walk  a  very  little  way, 
you  would  be  in  front  of  the  building.  It  is  very 
pleasant,  as  I  have  been  saying  to  your  mamma.  I 
have  been  there  and — " 

The  child  could  not  restrain  herself. 

**You  have  been  there!  Then  you  must  have  ?een 
him  1"  »he  exclaimed. 


100  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIBND. 

She  was  fairly  trembling  with  excitement.  Both 
her  little  hands  were  on  his  arm  and  her  eyes  were 
gazing  into  his. 

"  Mr.  Allen  did  not  say  he  had  been  there  this 
summer,  my  darling,"  corrected  the  mother.  **  Your 
papa  has  been  there  but  two  months,  you  must 
remember." 

The  child  was  disappointed.  A  great  lump  came 
into  her  throat  as  she  realized  the  error  she  had 
made.  Mordaunt  was  relieved  at  his  happy  extrica- 
tion from  what  promised  to  be  a  dilemma. 

**  You  miss  your  papa  very  much,"  he  said, 
kindly. 

"Oh,  so  much  !"  she  replied.  "But  we  think  he 
will  come  back  very  soon  now." 

Then  Darrell's  family  had  not  been  apprized  of 
his  change  of  plan  !  He  had  taken  pains  to  write 
about  it  to  an  outsider,  and  let  his  wife  and  children 
wait.  Mordaunt  was  sure  he  could  have  choked 
him  had  he  had  him  there.  Then  he  spoke  to  the 
smaller  one : 

"  How  is  it  with  you,  my  little  Ethel ;  do  you  miss 
papa,  too  ?" 

"  No,  me  doesn't,"  was  the  unconcerned  reply. 

"She  is  so  little,  sir,"  said  Alice,  apologetically, 
before  her  mother  could  speak.  "  She  is  only  three. 
Children  do  not  remember  very  well  at  three,  do 
they,  sir  r 

Mordaunt  stroked  the  heads  of  both  of  them,  and 
began  to  think  that  he  could  make  one  of  a  party  to 
adjust  a  rope  around  the  neck  of  such  a  father  as 
they  had.  Then  he  bade  the  little  ones  good-night, 
telling  thetn  to  sleep  well  and  be  good  children 
At  the  door  Alice  paused  and  spoke  to  him  again  : 

"We  pray  to  God  every   night,"  she  said  rever- 


"MAY  WB  FRA*  WOK  roof  SW 

ently,  "  to  bless  papa  and  mamma.     Would  you  car* 

very  much  if  we  prayed  for  you,  too  ?" 

The  question  staggered  him  as  he  had  never  been 
staggered  in  his  life. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you,"  he  answered,  but 
his  utterance  was  thick  and  he  felt  stifled. 

When  Anna  returned  from  the  visit  she  paid  to 
the  little  ones,  who  must  have  their  mother's  kiss  as 
the  very  last  thing  before  falling  asleep,  she  found 
him  standing. 

"  Are  you  going  so  early  ?"  she  asked  in  a  slightly 
disappointed  tone,  for  she  liked  this  man  already^ 
and  knew  that  the  evening  would  be  lonesome  when 
he  had  gone. 

"  I  only  came  to-night  to  bring  the  book,"  he  said. 
"  I  did  not  intend  to  remain  long.  But  I  will  como 
again,  if  I  may." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  she  responded,  cordially. 
0  You  are  always  welcome." 

He  walked  in  the  silence  of  the  woods  that  night 
until  it  was  very  late.  How  could  a  child's  words — 
the  thoughtless  utterances  of  a  little  one  of  seven 
— affect  a  grown  man  so  ?  A  man,  too,  who  had 
never  troubled  himself  about  prayer,  and  who  had 
not  always  led  the  best  life  he  knew. 

"  Would  you  care,  sir,  if  we  prayed  for  you  ?" 

He  heard  it  over  and  over,  and  he  was  pleased  to 
remember  his  reply  :  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have 
you." 

There  had  been  nothing  designedly  wrong  in 
Harold  Mordaunt's  mind  that  evening,  before  Alice 
spoke  those  words.  But  if  there  was  the  slightest 
possibility  of  harm  to  that  household  in  the  depths 
of  his  heart,  the  childish  voice  had  made  an  end  of  it 
forever  I 


108  HER  HOSBAND'S  FBIBMA. 

Such  a  wife  and  such  children — and  »uch  a  hus- 
band I  What  blindness  could  have  so  affected 
Edmund  ! 

And  then  Mordaunt  remembered  that  he  had  not 
yet  seen  Laura  Casson. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHEN    LOVE   HAS   FLE*. 

It  has  probably  been  the  experience  of  most  mf 
who  have  sat  upon  juries,  either  in  or  out  of  coim, 
that  they  have  found  themselves  coming  to  a  decision 
on  the  merits  of  a  case  some  time  before  the  first 
side  had  finished  its  evidence.  Mordaunt  had 
declared  in  favor  of  the  fair  witness  who  had  been 
the  only  one  yet  in  the  box,  before  it  occurred  to 
him  that  there  was  yet  another  to  be  heard. 

After  a  third  call  at  the  Darrell  house  he  decided 
to  absent  himself  from  Auburn  for  a  few  days.  He 
wanted  to  see  Miss  Casson,  whose  invitation  came 
promptly  to  hand,  and  he  also  thought  it  best  not  to 
allow  the  Auburn  gossips  to  note  that  he  was  too 
constant  a  visitor  at  the  home  of  the  deserted  wife. 
Arriving  at  Boston  he  went  to  Young's  Hotel,  which 
was  in  those  days  the  especial  and  popular  place  for 
the  housing  of  single  gentlemen,  and,  as  he  had  no 
business  of  greater  importance,  he  visited  Miss  Cas- 
son's  parlors  that  same  evening,  which  happened  to 
be  a  Thursday. 

There  were  thirty  or  forty  other  persons  there 
when  his  name  was  announced,  but  for  a  few  minutes 


WHEW   LOVE  HAS  FLBD.  108 

fie  had  eyes  for  her  alone.  He  was  conscious  of  a 
disappointment  when  the  slight,  delicate  womaii 
came  forward  to  greet  him.  He  had  imagined  her  a 
sort  of  Hebe,  whose  physical  charms  would  far  out- 
shine the  modest  creature  he  had  just  left  in  Auburn. 
When  a  man  preferred  the  society  of  another  woman 
to  that  of  his  wife,  thought  this  ignorant  young  gen- 
tleman, the  cause  must  be  one  to  impress  itself 
instantly  upon  the  beholder.  Laura  Casson  had  few 
of  the  claims  to  beauty  that  he  had  noted  in  Anna 
Darrell.  She  had  neither  her  height  nor  her  com- 
plexion, nor  her  brilliancy  of  eyes,  nor  her  round- 
ness of  outline,  nor  her  erectness  of  carriage.  She 
was  to  his  mind  quite  insignificant  in  contrast  to  the 
woman  with  whom  he  must  always  compare  her. 

These  were  the  first  impressions.  Perhaps  the 
others  would  come  later  on. 

An  unusual  nervousness  for  those  white  hands 
of  hers — almost  a  trembling — seized  them  as  they 
touched  his  fingers,  and  realizing  it  she  gave  him  a 
clasp  that  was  quite  cold.  After  a  few  common- 
places, she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  Do  not  mention  Mr. 
Darrell's  name  here.  I  will  explain  why,  later." 
Then  she  introduced  him  to  a  group  of  which  Mr. 
Clarkson  was  the  most  conspicuous  figure,  and 
turned  to  greet  some  guests  who  had  just  arrived. 

"You  are  a  Bostonian,  of  course,"  said  Mordaunt 
to  Clarkson,  by  way  of  beginning  a  conversation. 

"  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  world,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
place  no  country  nor  people  above  another." 

"Ah,"  said  the  other.  "You  are  evidently,  like 
myself,  a  traveller." 

"  Not  as  much  as  I  mean  to  be.  I  have  only 
spent  a  few  months  in  Southern  Europe  and  a  year 
in  Germany.  I  shall  go  again  before  long." 


*  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  there,"  said  Mordannt,  *  as 
I  expect  to  winter  in  Italy.  Which  of  the  countries 
of  Europe  do  you  prefer  among  those  which  you 
have  seen  ?" 

"  France,**  came  the  quick  reply. 

"And  why  France T 

•*  Because  it  is  the  ripest  for  revolution,** 

"Whew!"  thought  Mordaunt.  "Another  Com- 
munist, full  of  his  subject."  But  for  Miss  Casson's 
injunction,  the  name  of  Darrell  would  have  been 
immediately  on  his  tongue. 

Others  were  listening,  among  the  number  Mr. 
Jannin,  Mr.  Rossborough,  Miss  Everest  and  Miss 
Symonds. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mordaunt,  "  that  France  is 
particularly  well  governed  just  now.  She  has  had 
many  years  of  peace,  and  her  progress  in  the 
sciences,  the  arts,  and  in  manufactures  has  been 
stupendous.  How  could  it  benefit  her  people  to  have 
a  republic  ?" 

This  question  loosened  Clarkson's  tongue,  and  for 
the  next  ten  minutes  his  reply,  delivered  in  the  most 
rapid  and  impassioned  manner,  drew  nearly  all  of 
those  present  to  his  end  of  the  room. 

When  he  paused,  Mordaunt  turned  to  Miss  Casson, 
who  had  approached  with  the  others,  and  inquired 
whether  a  discussion  of  this  kind  was  perfectly 
agreeable  to  her.  Being  a  stranger,  he  said  he  did 
not  wish  to  transgress  any  of  the  rules,  but  he  would 
like  to  ventilate  his  ideas  on  the  subject  in  question 
a  little  further. 

**  Say  all  you  please,"  she  answered,  smiling. 
*  That  is  just  what  we  are  here  for." 

At  that  Mordaunt  proceeded  to  reply  seriatim  to 
vhat  he  had  just  heard. 


WHEN   LOVE   HAS   fLXB.  104 

"  While  a  republic  may  be  theoretically  the  most 
righteous  form  of  government,"  he  said,  in  substance, 
"  an  autocracy  has  merits  that  should  not  be  over- 
looked. No  city  like  Paris,  for  instance,  could  bo 
reared  by  any  mere  commonality.  It  took  centralized 
power  to  tear  down  the  old  city  and  rebuild  it  in  its 
present  loveliness.  One  of  the  first  things  that 
would  follow  the  overthrow  of  the  empire  would  be 
the  destruction  of  the  provisions  for  the  safety  and 
comfort  of  the  very  classes  whose  hands  are  now 
arrayed  against  it.  Intelligent  power  in  a  few  hands 
is  necessarily  better,  if  honestly  administered,  than 
the  rule  of  ignorant  masses.  Paris  is  better  gov- 
erned than  New  York,  or  Philadelphia,  or  Washing- 
ton. It  is  true  that  the  French  emperor  takes  eight 
million  dollars  a  year  to  support  his  establishment, 
but  in  America  the  innumerable  rings  rob  the  people 
of  ten  times  as  much,  without  returning  an  equiva- 
lent. There  may  be  countries  where  great  power  is 
grossly  abused,  but  France  is  not  one  of  them." 

And  so  he  went  on  for  fifteen  minutes  or  more : 
and  after  that  Clarkson  replied  ;  and  the  guests 
of  Miss  Casson  sided,  some  with  one  and  som« 
with  the  other  ;  and  the  evening  wore  away. 

On  the  whole  Mordaunt  enjoyed  it.  He  won- 
dered at  the  fluency  which  he  had  shown,  for  h« 
had  never  before  made  an  argument  in  such  a 
public  manner,  and  he  flattered  himself  that  he  had 
done  pretty  well.  When  Miss  Casson  bade  him 
good-night,  she  asked  him  in  low  tones  whether  he 
could  make  it  convenient  to  call  upon  her  the  follow- 
ing afternoon,  to  .which  he  willingly  assented.  Clark- 
son,  who  was  near  enough  to  note  that  there  was  a 
secret  between  them — a  thing  that  rankled  in  his 
heart,  because  th-re  never  was  one  with  himself— 


106  HBB  HTSBAWB'S  FRIBWB. 

passed  down  to  the  street  with  him,  and  they  walked 
along  for  some  distance  together. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  place  to  spend  an  evening,"  said 
Mordaunt,  noticing  that  his  companion  seemed 
inclined  to  be  taciturn. 

"  You  like  it,  do  you  ?"  was  the  response. 

"  Yes.  If  I  were  to  remain  in  the  city  I  should  go 
there  often." 

"You  do  not  expect  to  remain  in  Boston  ?"  said 
Clarkson,  in  a  tone  that  rather  implied  pleasure  at 
the  information. 

"Oh,  no.  Not  more  than  a  week  or  two,  at  the 
most." 

"  Then  you  will  miss  the  bright  particular  star  of 
the  circle,"  said  Clarkson,  with  an  odd  inflection. 
"  His  name  is  Darrell.  You  may  have  heard  of 
him." 

Mordaunt  thought  quickly.  He  did  not  mean  to 
break  his  promise  to  Miss  Casson,  and  yet  he 
wan  ted  to  hear  all  he  could  about  Darrell's  connec- 
tion with  the  house.  The  simplest,  and  easiest  way 
—that  of  prevarication — was  decided  upon. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Darrell,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
a  friend  who  knows  him,  and  who  tells  me  that  he 
has  decided  to  remain  away  for  some  time  longer 
than  he  at  first  intended.  Several  months  more,  I 
think  he  said." 

Clarkson  looked  thoughtful.  Presently  he  asked, 
with  a  vain  attempt  to  appear  indifferent  : 

**  Do  you  know  whether  his  wife  is  with  him  ?" 

It  was  precisely  because  the  question  was  such  a 
thorough  surprise  to  Mordaunt  that  he  escaped  the 
trap  set  for  him,  and  merely  echoed,  "  His  wife  !" 

"  I  don't  know  positively  that  he  is  married," 
admitted  Clarkson,  "but  that  is  the  opinion  of 


WHEN    LOVE    HAS   FLED.  107 

mnay.  Miss  Casson  shrewdly  avoids  the  subject. 
I  have  a  little  curiosity  to  know,  that  is  all.  If  he 
has  a  wife,  she  must  know  it.  They  have  been 
intimate  friends  for  a  long  time — eight  years,  I  am 
told." 

He  said  this  more  as  if  thinking  aloud  than  as  if 
talking  to  anybody. 

"  Miss  Casson  seems  to  be  held  in  high  esteem  by 
her  friends,"  suggested  Mordaunt.  "  There  surely 
can  be  no — no  suspicion — " 

Clarkson  looked  out  into  the  night,  and  repeated 
dreamily  the  words  of  Miss  Symonds,  slightly 
varied  : 

"  Suspicion  !     Of  Laura  Casson  !" 

Mordaunt  wondered  whether  there  was  any  trace 
of  irony  in  the  answer,  but  he  would  not  show  that 
he  thought  of  that. 

"  Exactly  what  I  said,"  he  replied.  "The  class  of 
people  who  frequent  her  receptions  would  not  toler- 
ate her  in  that  case." 

"All  classes  go  there,"  said  Clarkson.  "  No  one 
has  to  bring  a  certificate  of  character  to  enter  a 
reception  of  that  nature.  But — you  are  a  man  of 
some  experience  in  the  ways  of  the  world — suppos- 
ing it  turns  out  that  he  is  married,  what  is  the 
inference  ?" 

"Why,  platonic  friendship,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  that  sort  of  thing  ?" 

Mordaunt  was  trying  to  get  at  Clarkson's  opin- 
ions, not  to  air  his  own,  so  he  merely  said,  "Why 
not  ?" 

"  Let  us  look  at  it  for  a  moment,  for  the  sake  of 
the  argument  only,  you  know,"  mused  the  other. 
"  If  Darrell  has  a  wife  whom  h«  never  speaks  of, 
never  brings  into  society,  what  is  the  reason  ? 


108  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Strained  relations,  probably.  Given  a  man  with  a 
wife  with  whom  he  is  on  bad  terms,  and  another 
woman  with  whom  he  is  on  good  terms — what 
follows  ?  Platonic  friendship  ?  Why,  to  be  sure  !" 

He  had  ceased  to  disguise  his  sarcasm,  and  his 
hearer  knew  that  for  some  reason  he  was  very  bitter 
on  the  subject. 

"I  seem  fated  to  controvert  your  arguments 
to-night,"  said  Mordaunt,  smiling.  "Allowing  that 
Mr.  Darrell  is  married — which  is  only  a  guess,  a 
rumor,  let  us  say — and  that  he  fails  for  some  reason 
to  produce  the  body  of  his  wife  before  the  tribunal 
of  public  cynosure  (to  use  a  legal  phrase),  estrange- 
ment is  by  no  means  the  only  possible  explanation. 
The  lady  may  be  an  invalid,  who  cannot  leave  her 
room.  She  may  be  averse  to  all  publicity,  as  so 
many  women  are.  In  either  case,  she  may  be  fully 
aware  of  what  her  husband  is  doing,  and  glad  to 
have  him  cultivate  so  refined  an  acquaintance.  It  is, 
at  all  events,  something,  it  seems  to  me,  of  which 
the  world  at  large  has  no  right  to  demand  an 
accounting.  Miss  Casson's  character  is  supposed  to 
be  above  question.  Your  very  presence  at  her  house 
shows  that  you  have  confidence  in  it.  You  would 
hardly  continue  to  go  there,  I  think,  if  you  seriously 
doubted  it." 

"Oh,  I  would  go  anywhere,"  said  Clarkson, 
abruptly.  "  I  intend  to  write  novels  by-and-by." 

"  Who  says  that  Darrell  is  married  ?"  asked  Mor- 
daunt, after  reflecting  a  moment  on  the  peculiar 
qualitj  of  the  reply. 

"  Oh,  nobody  says  so.  It  seems  to  be  in  the  air. 
People  are  constantly  asking  each  other  about  it.  It 
anybody  could  say  so,  that  would  settle  it." 

*  It's  a  remarkable  thing,"  said  Mordaunt,  slowly 


WHBN   LOVE   HAS  FLED.  100 

"  that  no  one  thinks  of  asking  Miss  Casson  the  ques- 
tion." 

Clarkson  looked  at  him  again — with  that  direct, 
inquiring  gaze  of  his. 

"  Would  you  do  it  ?" 

"  If  I  knew  her  as  well  as  you  do,  and  wanted  very 
much  to  know,  I  think  I  would.  I  should  seize  the 
proper  time,  of  course,  when  it  came  in  naturally  in 
the  course  of  the  conversation." 

A  contemptuous  smile  greeted  this  answer. 

"There  is  a  proper  time  to  kill  a  loon,"  said  he, 
"  but,  though  somewhat  handy  with  a  gun,  I  never 
succeeded  in  bagging  an  old  one  yet.  Between  the 
flash  and  the  arrival  of  the  shot  the  creature  dives 
out  of  harm's  way.  Now  a  loon  is  a  very  wise  and 
crafty  bird,  but  he  is  simplicity  itself  when  com- 
pared to  a  woman  like  this.  If  you  don't  believe 
me,  try  it  sometime.  Well,  here  is  my  corner 
Good-night." 

Mordaunt's  interest  in  Miss  Casson  was  not 
lessened  by  this  conversation,  and  it  was  with  a  feel- 
ing that  the  new  sensation  he  coveted  was  about  to 
assume  a  deeper  interest,  that  he  presented  himself 
at  her  door  on  the  following  afternoon.  She  met 
him  in  a  loose  robe  of  white  woolen  goods,  tied  at 
the  wai?t  with  a  cord,  which  gave  her  something  the 
appearance  of  a  priestess.  Her  hair  was  rolled  back 
from  her  high  forehead,  and  her  face,  seen  by  day- 
light, was  somewhat  paler  than  it  had  been  under 
the  gas  jets. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you  to-day,"  she  said,  after  the 
ordinary  greetings  had  been  exchanged,  **  because  I 
could  say  little  to  you  last  night  in  the  presence  of 
»o  many  people.  Mr.  Darrell  writes  me  that  yo« 
•re  a  most  intimate  friend  of  his.  That  statement 


110  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

would  of  itself  make  you  welcome  in  this  house,  o*t 
besides  that  I  have  taken  a  great  interest  in  you 
personally,  on  account  of  what  you  said  in  the  course 
of  your  argument  last  night." 

She  was  certainly  candid,  but  the  frank  way  in 
which  she  spoke  surprised  him  a  little. 

"  Yes,  Edmund  and  I  have  been  friends  from 
childhood,"  he  said.  "  He  has  known  you  for  a  long 
time  also,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Quite  long  ;  eight  or  nine  years." 

"  Ah,  before  his  marriage,  then  ?" 

He  did  not  think  it  very  good  diplomacy  to  come 
to  the  point  so  soon,  when  the  words  were  out  of  his 
mouth,  but  he  had  espied  the  joint  in  her  armor 
and  struck  at  it  blindly.  She  met  him  without 
apparent  discomposure. 

"  Yes,  it  was  some  months  previous.  I  expected  at 
that  time  to  be  a  wife  soon  myself.  Probably  he 
told  you  of  my — my  misfortune." 

Her  voice  faltered  as  she  uttered  the  words,  and 
he  nodded  a  reply  to  the  question.  She  paused  a 
moment  and  then  said  : 

"  I  need  not  ask  you  if  you  left  Mr.  Darrell  well  ?*" 

"  He  was  quite  so." 

"  And  happy  ?" 

He  had  not  anticipated  the  query.  Was  it  the 
sympathizing  friend  or  the  jealous  mistress  who 
asked  it  ? 

"I  can  hardly  say  'yes*  to  that,"  he  replied. 
"  Edmund  does  not  seem  to  me  as  bright  as  he  used 
to  be.  I  was  separated  from  him  for  several  years, 
and  on  meeting  him  again  I  find  a  great  change,  and 
one  that  I  do  not  like.  He  has  lost  much  of  his  old 
cheerfulness.  His  head  is  full  of  communistic  and 
revolutionary  ideas,  like  those  of  Mr.  Clarkson 


WHEN   LOVE  HAS  FLED.  Ill 

whom  I  met  here  last  night.  They  may  or  may  not 
be  correct,  but  I  think  they  are  bad  for  a  man  of  his 
temperament.  They  weigh  constantly  on  his  mind. 
His  spirits  have  lost  their  elasticity.  He  sees  less 
than  he  ought  of  the  fairness  of  the  earth." 

To  his  surprise  this  statement  only  brought  a 
touch  of  sunshine  into  her  face. 

"  He  knows,  as  I  do,"  she  said,  "  that  a  great  over- 
turn is  coming,  and  that  it  is  a  time  for  those  who 
wish  to  help  it  onward  to  adopt  a  serious  mien. 
Standing  as  he  does  to-day  on  ground  which  must 
so  soon  echo  with  the  tread  of  an  arisen  people — 
perhaps  be  drenched  with  their  best  patriot  blood 
— he  does  well  to  forswear  personal  pleasure." 

He  smiled  at  her  earnestness. 

"  As  we  can  never  agree  on  that  subject,"  said  he, 
"  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to  talk  about  some- 
thing else.  I  am  glad  to  say,  however,  that  our 
friend,  in  his  desire  to  save  the  down-trodden  serfs  of 
a  tyrannous  despotism,  does  not  forget  the  more 
important  business  of  his  journey.  He  is  using  all 
efforts  to  secure  the  patents  that  he  wants  for  his 
invention.  Perhaps  when  he  has  made  a  million  or 
two  he  will  develop  into  an  aristocrat  like  the  rest 
of  us." 

"  You  do  not  know  him  !"  cried  Miss  Casson,  with 
enthusiasm.  'It  is  only  the  hope  of  gaining  a  for- 
tune  that  he  can  use  in  our  Cause  that  spurs  him  on. 
1  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  when  he  is  in  possession 
of  his  magnificent  income,  he  will  devote  it  all  to 
hastening  the  downfall  of  imperialism  and  the 
upbuilding  of  democracy  throughout  the  world  V 

Mordaunt's  smile  faded. 

"  All  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Every  dollar  for  democ- 
racy, and  nothing  for  wife  and  children  ?" 


119  BKS  HUSBAND'S 

Her  self-possession  gave  way  in  a  moment,  and  tht 
nails  of  her  white  hands  buried  themselves  in  the 
flesh. 

"Children?'  she  gasped.  And  in  a  breath  he 
knew  that  he  had  revealed  a  secret  which  he  had 
not  intended  to  do. 

"Why  not  children  as  well  as  wife?"  he  asked, 
pretending  not  to  understand.  "  Perhaps  you  are 
one  of  those  who  believe  that  a  man's  children 
should  not  inherit  his  goods.  But  you  would  hardly 
claim  that  the  father,  who  is  responsible  for  their 
existence,  ought  to  leave  them  to  starve  while  they 
are  young  and  helpless.  I  can  only  think  you  do 
not  mean  to  be  taken  literally  when  you  say  that 
Mr.  Darrell  should  give  all  of  his  coming  fortune  t» 
advance  his  theories." 

"  We  ask  no  one  to  neglect  making  proper  pro- 
vision for  his  relations,"  she  stammered.  "  He  has  a 
—a  child— then  ?" 

Mordaunt  thought  of  Anna  Darrell,  and  his  heart 
grew  very  hard  and  cold. 

•*  I  said  « children,' "  he  replied. 

**I  know — I  understood  you.  But — sometimes 
people  use  the  plural — " 

She  was  hoping  against  hope,  and  the  agony  of 
the  doubt  was  visible  in  every  lineament.  He 
thought  it  best  to  tell  her  everything,  now  he  had 
gone  so  far. 

**  There  are  two ;  the  elder  seven,  the  younger 
three.  If  I  had  not  supposed  you  knew,  you  may  be 
sure  I  should  not  have  alluded  to  the  subject." 

A  criminal  on  the  rack  could  hardly  have  suffered 
more  than  she  did  at  that  moment,  and  she  felt  com- 
pelled to  bear  the  pain  with  the  fortitude  of  a 
martyr. 


WHEN   LOVE   HAS  FLBB.  Ufc 

"Mr.  Darrell  never  spoke  to  me  of — of  such 
things,"  she  enunciated,  slowly.  "  I  knew  he  was 
married,  and  I  supposed — I  understood — I  mean,  I 
thought  very  likely — there  was  a  child.  I  did  not 
know  there  was — another.  And  only  three  years 
old,  you  say  ?" 

"  So  he  told  me,"  said  Mordaunt,  fearing  lest  the 
next  question  would  be  whether  he  had  himself  seen 
them.  "  You  have  never  met  Mrs.  Darrell,  I 
believe  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  making  the  greatest  effort  to 
appear  calm. 

"  There  was  no  reason  why  I  should.  Mr.  Darrell 
and  I  are  engaged  in  a  social  propaganda.  We  pub- 
lish a  magazine  together.  His  private  affairs  or 
mine  are  never  alluded  to  in  our  conversations.  All 
that  I  ever  knew  of  his  marriage  is  that  it  was  sud- 
den— and — unfortunate." 

Her  voice  had  regained  most  of  its  natural 
strength,  and  she  looked  more  like  herself  again. 

"  How  unfortunate  ?  In  what  respect  ?'*  he 
asked,  determined  to  probe  the  matter  as  far  as  she 
would  permit. 

"  I  do  not  think  I  ought  to  cay  any  more,"  she 
responded.  "  You  are  his  friend,  and  if  he  has  not 
chosen  to  tell  you  anything,  I  should  be  at  least  as 
reticent.'* 

"  He  has  told  me  a  good  deal,"  said  Mordaunt 
"  I  know  he  does  not  consider  her  his  mental  equal, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

She  bowed  an  affirmative. 

"  Is  not  that  quite  enough  to  justify  the  use  of  the 
word  'unfortunate,'  in  the  case  of  a  man  like 
Edmund  Darrell  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Perhapft,"  he  admitted.     M  But,  harUg 


114  HER  HUSBAND'S  FKIENB. 

precipitately  into  a  marriage  of  this  kind— in  which 

the  wife  is  an  innocent  victim — does  he  not  owe  her 
a  fealty  which  the  previously  existing  inequality  of 
mind  cannot  shake  ?" 

Miss  Casson's  agitation,  while  it  had  been  well 
subdued,  left  her  a  more  easy  prey  to  the  artfulness 
of  her  interlocutor.  She  wanted  to  justify  Darrell 
and  herself  in  the  eyes  of  this  persistent  man. 

"  Probably  you  consider  marriage  a  sacred  thing 
under  all  conditions,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not.  A  man 
or  a  woman  has  not  only  no  obligation — they  have 
no  right — to  throw  away  all  the  possibilities  of  a 
lifetime  on  account  of  one  deplorable  error.  I  may 
as  well  speak  plainly.  Had  Edmund  Darrell  con- 
tinued the  constant  associate  of  an  ignorant  country 
girl  he  would  inevitably  have  sunk  to  her  level.  He 
has  a  mind  too  noble  to  be  thus  destroyed.  The 
thing  to  do  when  one  discovers  that  he  has  com- 
mitted a  great  mistake  is  to  seek  the  remedy.  In 
the  instance  of  which  we  are  speaking  I  believe  an 
effort  has  been  made  to  do  this,  or  at  least  partially. 
If  the  wife  had  been  as  wise  as  the  husband  there 
would  have  been  a  separation  long  ago.  It  would 
have  been  better,  I  am  sure,  than  continuing  a  mar- 
riage which  is  only  a  pretence,  and  an  injury  to 
them  both,  to  say  nothing  of  the — the  children — so 
undesirable  under  such  circumstances." 

Mordaunt  smiled  sarcastically. 

"  Making  new  arrangements,  at  the  pleasure  of 
either,  would  seem  preferable  to  you,  I  presume," 
he  said. 

She  frowned,  in  spite  of  her  determination  not  to 
do  so. 

*'  My  views  of  the  marriage  relation  are  not,  as  you 
seem  to  think,  lighter  than  those  of  most  peoole,  but 


WHEN   LOVE   HAS   PLEtt,  111 

more  intense,"  she  replied.  "  To  live  with  a  woman 
after  love  has  fled  seems  to  me  nothing  short  of  a 
crims." 

"  Then  new  arrangements,  at  the  pleasure  of  either, 
are  of  course  quite  proper,"  he  persisted. 
"  I  did  not  say  that." 
"  But,  excuse  me,  do  you  not  think  it  ?" 
"  It  is  not  easy  to  make  a  rule  to  fit  all  cases/*  she 
responded,  like  an  animal  at  bay.     "  What  may  be 
right  for  one  may  be  wrong  for  another." 

He  decided  to  throw  everything  into  the  scale, 
then  and  there. 

"  But   we    are   speaking   of    this  case,*'  he   said, 
impressively.     "  The  case  of  Edmund  Darrell — and 
his  wife — and  you." 
"And  me  !"  she  cried. 
*'  And  you." 

Her  slight  bosom  palpitated  with  the  quick  am 
short  breaths. 

"  No  one  has  a  right  to  question  me,*'  she  ans- 
wered, proudly.  "  You  are  going  too  far." 

She  was  not  angry,  he  could  see  that  very  well, 
but  she  had  suddenly  grown  quite  determined. 

"  Miss  Casson,"  said  Mordaunt,  quietly,  "  I  do  not 
know  how  we  got  into  this  strain  in  our  conversa- 
tion. I  can  say  with  truth  that  it  was  not  premedi- 
tated by  me.  Believe  it  or  doubt  it,  as  you  please, 
I  am  speaking  as  your  friend  and  Darrell's.  Now, 
can  you  two  afford  to  brave  the  opinion  of  the 
world  ?" 

The  last  words  brought  a  ray  of  light  into  her 
features  that  chased  away  the  darkness  that  had 
lingered  there. 

"  The  Cause  that  binds  us,"  she  said,  "is  so  great, 
that  beside  it  ordinary  attractions  do  not  deserve  to 


lift  «EB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND 


be  even  named.  What,  compared  to  it,  are 
and  children — and  lovers  ?  They  are  ephemeral — 
they  will  be  gone  to-morrow — but  the  enfranchise- 
ment of  mankind,  the  return  to  unborn  generations 
of  their  long-stolen  patrimony,  that  is  something 
that  will  endure  Forever  !" 

**  In  the  meantime  what  is  to  become  of  the  epheme- 
rals  ?"  asked  Mordaunt.  "  Has  Darrell  ever  pro- 
posed a  separation  from  his  wife,  and  if  so,  what 
provision  would  he  think  it  proper  to  make  for 
berr 

"I  know  nothing  of  that,"  she  answered.  "I 
only  know  that  his  family  hangs  like  a  millstone 
about  his  neck,  hindering  him  at  every  step  he  takes, 
If  you  are  his  true  friend  you  will  advise  him  to  dis- 
burden himself.  He  will  soon  have  money  enough, 
and  will  be  able  to  satisfy  her.'* 

He  nodded  with  a  thoughtful  air. 

"  You  have  never  seen  her,  I  think  you  said." 

"  Never." 

"Then  how  can  you  say  so  coolly  that  dollars 
will  recompense  her  for  the  husband  she  will  lose  ?" 

"  Because  I  know  the  type  !"  she  replied,  growing 
earnest.  "  For  eight  years  she  has  been  his  wife, 
And  yet  he  has  spent  nearly  every  hour  away  from 
her.  Has  she  followed  him,  remonstrated,  done 
any  of  the  things  that  a  woman  of  force  of  character 
would  have  done  ?  No,  or  I  should  have  heard  of 
It.  How  long  do  you  think  /  would  have  endured 
that  sort  of  treatment  ?  Not  a  month  !  If  she  has 
been  content  with  nothing  but  her  support  for  eight 
years,  it  will  content  her  still.  Oh,  it  makes  me  hot 
with  anger  when  I  think  of  such  a  bloodless  creature 
holding  such  a  mat)  in  chains,  when  she  bas  not  in 


WHEN   LOVE   HAS   FLHD.  11T 

her  makeup  a  single  element  needed  to  round  out 
his  life  I" 

Miss  Casson  clasped  her  nervous  hands  above  her 
head,  and  a  tremor  passed  through  her  frame. 

"A  woman's  opinion  of  her  lover's  wife  is  not 
likely  to  be  of  the  fairest,"  he  said,  stung  by  the 
slighting  way  in  which  she  had  spoken  of  Mrs. 
Darrell. 

She  fairly  writhed  under  the  words. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  cried.  **  Edmund 
Darrell  was  never  any  more  a  lover  of  mine — in  the 
common  acceptation  of  that  term — than  you  are  ! 
Nothing  ever  passed  between  us  that  the  whole 
world  might  not  have  seen  and  welcome.  He  is  my 
friend,  my  coadjutor,  my  counsellor,  my  partner, 
but  my  lover — no  !  My  views  of  marriage  are,  as  I 
told  you,  holier  than  yours.  Never,  while  another 
woman  could  claim  him,  even  by  the  shallow  fiction 
of  law,  could  he  be  any  more  to  me  than  he  is.  But 
let  me  do  him  justice.  By  no  word,  look  or  insinua- 
tion has  he  violated  the  strictest  rules,  in  all  his 
intercourse  with  me." 

He  was  impolite  enough  to  tell  her  that  some 
people  had  thought  otherwise. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  seeing  me  reflected  in  the 
impure  mirror  of  their  own  minds.  What  they  think 
is  nothing  to  me  so  long  as  none  of  them  broach  the 
subject,  and  that  the  most  intimate  of  my  friends 
have  not  dared  to  do.  You  are  the  first  who  has 
had  the  temerity  to  catechize  me,  and  for  some 
reason  which  I  hardly  understand  I  hare  conde- 
scended to  set  you  right.  I  think  it  was  because  I 
wanted  you  to  believe  in  me.  And  you  do,  do  you 
not  ?" 

It  was  an  appeal  uttered  with  startling  earnestness, 


lit  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

and  he  replied  with  trutn  that  he  did  believe  in  her. 
She  leaned  toward  him,  caught  one  of  his  hands  and 
pressed  it. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  boasting,"  she  said.  "  I  make 
no  platform  for  others.  I  criticise  no  man  or 
woman  who  find  themselves  unable  to  bear  the 
weight  when  a  loveless  marriage  separates  them.  I 
speak  only  of  myself  and  Edmund  Darrell." 

She  released  his  hand  almost  as  soon  as  she  took 
it,  but  in  the  brief  space  that  her  fingers  touched 
him  he  realized  what  an  influence  she  might  have  on 
a  man  who  loved  her,  if  she  chose  to  exert  it.  Her 
pulses  had  beaten  time  with  his  for  twenty  seconds. 

"You  do  not  expect  Mr.  Darrell  very  soon  ?"  he 
said,  interrogatively. 

"Not  until  late  in  the  autumn,"  she  replied,  with 
a  touch  of  sadness  in  her  voice.  "  I  need  him  just 
now  very  much,  but  it  is  necessary  that  he  should 
stay.  Forgive  a  woman's  curiosity,  but  you  said 
something  about  the  opinion  of  people  in  relation  to 
us.  Did  you  hear  gossip  connecting  our  names  last 
night  ?" 

He  bowed. 

"  How  did  it  come  about  ?" 

"A  question  arose  as  to  whether  Edmund  wa§ 
married." 

«  Yes  ?" 

"  The  answer  was  that  it  was  strange,  if  he  were, 
that  his  wife  was  never  seen  with  him." 

Her  eyes  dilated  with  gratification. 

"I think  no  one  in  my  circle  really  knows,"  she 
•aid.  "  And  you  will  not  tell  ?" 

He  asked  why  she  cared  whether  they  knew  or 
not. 

M  Because  it   would  give  rise  to  petty  annoyances, 


"WHY  DO  TOD  TUrt  BEE?*  lit 

and  perhaps  injure  us  in  the  business  we  have  to  do. 

The  world  is  very  big — is  it  not — when  a  man  as  well 
known  as  he  can  have  a  family  within  a  hundred  and 
fifty  miles,  and  no  one  here  the  wiser?" 

He  assented,  though  he  did  not  share  her  evident 
delight,  and  soon  after  they  parted.  She  inquired 
whether  he  would  probably  attend  the  next  soiree, 
and  he  told  her  it  was  doubtful,  as  he  had  some  pri- 
vate business  that  might  take  him  out  of  town.  But 
whenever  he  returned,  he  said,  he  should  certainly 
see  her. 

When  Mordaunt  had  gone,  Laura  Casson  turned  to 
her  mirror  and  was  not  surprised  to  see  a  bit  of  color 
in  her  cheeks.  She  thought  she  had  not  felt  better 
since  Edmund  went  away.  Then  she  recollected,  all 
at  once,  what  she  had  learned  about  the  little  Ethel, 
and  she  wept  for  an  hour  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"WHY  DO  vou  YISIT  HER?" 

Back  to  the  village  of  Auburn,  back  to  that  bit  of 
modern  Arcadia,  rode  Harry  Mordaunt.  The  flying 
train  sped  merrily  through  the  fair  land  of  Middlesex, 
the  rising  ground  of  Worcester  and  the  hilly  coun- 
try of  Hampshire.  The  traveller,  alone  in  a  corner 
of  his  Pullman,  went  over  the  events  of  the  last 
fortnight,  retracing,  foot  by  foot,  the  space  he  had 
traversed.  Again  he  saw  Anna  Darrell  at  the 
church,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  clergyman,  but  her 


110  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEIHB. 

heart,  he  nad  no  doubt,  very,  very  far  away.  He 
saw  her  on  her  own  premises,  under  the  pine  trees, 
and  then  in  her  parlor  watching  him  turn  the  leaves 
of  his  guide  to  Paris.  In  every  look  and  act  there 
was  mirrored  devotion  to  the  absent  one,  who  so  lit- 
tle deserved  it  all.  Then  he  found  himself  thinking 
of  the  domestic  joys  that  would  be  possible  with  a 
partner  like  Anna.  It  chilled  him  to  think  of  such 
a  woman  left,  like  a  wild  rose,  to  bloom,  wither  and 
fall  by  the  wayside. 

Confirmed  bachelor  as  he  was,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  had  he  met  a  girl  like  this  ten  years  sooner  all 
his  life  might  have  been  changed.  Anna  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  world,  but  it  would  have  been  exquisite 
pleasure  to  teach  her.  She  had  never  travelled 
beyond  the  confines  of  her  own  county ;  but  how 
much  more  delightful  she  would  have  been,  on  the 
voyages  that  had  taken  him  to  every  clime,  than  a 
blase1  companion  who  had  seen  everything  before^ 
and  could  find  nothing  to  awake  more  than  the 
most  languid  interest.  Her  simple  manners  might 
cause  a  smile  in  some  ultra-refined  circles ;  but  had 
he  had  this  wild  rose  to  develop  all  that  would  long 
since  hare  been  past. 

The  train  stopped  at  a  station  and  he  looked  out 
at  the  people  who  were  gathered  there.  As  the 
wheels  began  to  revolve  again  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was  dreaming  of  impossible  things.  He 
must  think,  not  of  what  might  have  been,  but  of 
what  was.  He  had  not  met  Anna  in  the  golden 
days  of  their  youth.  She  was  now  his  friend's  wife. 
N«  greater  chasm  could  be  imagined  between  them 
than  this.  These  reflections  gave  him  a  sort  of  chill, 
•ad  to  the  surprise  of  his  over-heated  neighbors,  he 


"WHY   DO  YOU  VISIT  HBB?*  111 

asked  the  porter  to  come  and  close  the  window  next 
to  him. 

Then  there  passed  through  his  mind  the  particu- 
lars of  his  interview  with  Miss  Casson.  His  sum- 
ming up  was  that  she  was  a  clever,  intellectual,  hard- 
hearted woman.  For,  it  must  be  remembered,  he 
had  not  seen  her  in  tears.  He  was  surprised,  on  the 
whole,  at  her  statement  in  relation  to  the  innocence 
of  her  relations  with  Darrell,  or  rather,  surprised 
that  he  believed  her,  as  he  unquestionably  did. 
Mordaunt  had  a  notion  that  he  could  read  character 
in  faces.  Had  her  statement  come  to  him  in  the 
form  of  a  letter,  he  might  have  scoffed  at  it,  because 
he  was  not  an  expert  in  hand-writing,  and  all  the 
probabilities  pointed  in  an  opposite  direction.  But 
he  had  seen  and  heard  her,  and  no  shadow  of  doubt 
was  left  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 

As  he  thought  it  all  over,  he  could  not  tell  whether 
the  state  of  affairs  that  he  had  found  would  tend  to 
complicate  or  simplify  the  thing  he  most  desired — 
the  reuniting  of  the  husband  and  wife.  If  Miss  Cas- 
son had  held  Darrell  for  eight  years  and  more  by 
the  mere  strength  of  her  intellectual  domination, 
what  was  to  prevent  her  from  holding  him  inde- 
finitely ?  If  he  had  not  been  drawn  to  his  wife  during 
that  long  time  by  her  beauty  and  sweetness — if  his 
charming  children  had  no  influence  to  keep  him  at 
home — what  could  do  it  ?  To  Mordaunt  Anna  came 
in  the  guise  of  a  revelation.  He  had  never  seen 
anything  like  her.  But  to  Edmund  she  was  now  an 
old  story,  and  what  was  there  to  throw  into  the 
scale  ? 

It  seemed  a  hopeless  task  that  the  dreamer  In  tht 
Pullman  car  had  set  himself  to  do. 

At  the  Auburn  House  Landlord  Uphaai 


in 

him  heartily.  He  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Mor« 
daunt,  who  had  whiled  away  many  a  lonesome  hour 
.n  hi»  company,  both  about  the  quiet  hotel  and  in 
making  various  trips  to  places  in  the  vicinity  by 
means  of  a  horse  and  buggy  from  the  landlord's 
well-stocked  stables.  He  had  said  nothing  to  Mrs. 
Darrell  about  his  intention  of  leaving  town  for  a  few 
days,  feeling  that  he  could  not  do  so  without  con- 
veying an  intimation  that  he  thought  her  more  inter- 
ested than  there  was  any  reason  to  suppose  she 
would  be  in  the  movements  of  one  who  was  so 
recently  a  total  stranger  to  her.  He  thought,  as  he 
ate  his  supper,  that  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  wait  a 
day  or  two  before  he  called  on  her  ;  but  as  he  strolled 
out,  with  cigar  lighted,  the  inclination  came  too 
strongly  upon  him,  and  he  turned  almost  involuntarily 
toward  her  house.  Arriving  at  her  gate  he  hesitated. 
Till  that  minute  he  had  really  believed  that  all  he 
meant  to  do  was  to  pass  the  house,  unless — he  made 
this  mental  reservation — she  should  happen  to  be 
out  of  doors  and  see  him.  But  it  was  too  cool  that 
week  for  comfortable  sitting  under  the  shade  trees, 
and  he  saw  a  light  in  the  parlor  that  betokened 
where  she  was. 

One  of  the  curtains  was  not  drawn  low  enough  to 
wholly  hide  the  interior,  and  he  could  see  her  at  a 
table,  reading,  probably  the  volume  he  had  left  with 
her.  No  one  else  was  visible  and  her  quiet  attitude 
implied  that  she  was  alone.  Clearly  it  was  an  oppor- 
tunity not  to  be  thrown  away.  Tossing  his  half- 
used  cigar  into  the  street,  he  swung  back  the  gate, 
letting  it  slam  purposely  behind  him,  and  rang  the 
bell.  A  moment  later  he  was  receiving  a  pleasant 
tmile  of  recognition  and  an  invitation  to  be  seated 
in  the  parlor 


*WHY  DO  YOU   VISIT  HER?*  ISt 

*  I  am  afraid  you  have  come  for  your  book,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  it  on  the  table  where  she  had  just 
laid  it  down.  "  I  thought  once  that  I  ought  to  send 
it  to  the  hotel,  but  I  have  been  very  busy  and  have 
hardly  finished  it.  However — " 

"You  are  quite  wrong,"  he  interrupted,  not  wish* 
ing  to  lose  the  advantage  offered  by  the  opening. 
"  I  have  no  use  whatever  for  the  volume,  andiyou  are 
welcome  to  keep  it  as  long  as  you  like.  I  have  been 
out  of  town  for  several  days  and  only  returned  on 
this  evening's  train.  While  I  like  Auburn  very  much 
and  mean  to  spend  some  time  here,  I  have  almost 
no  acquaintances  in  the  village  outside  of  Mr. 
Upham  and  his  family.  So  when  I  strolled  out  after 
supper,  and  happened  to  pass  your  house,  and  saw 
that  your  parlor  was  lighted  up,  I  thought  perhaps 
you  would  take  pity  on  a  lonesome  mam  and  allow 
me  to  inflict  my  presence  on  you  for  a  few  minutes.** 

She  was  used  to  plain,  straightforward  ways — this 
country  woman — and  she  answered  him  from  her 
heart : 

"  I  have  told  you  before  that  you  are  always  wel« 
come  here,  Mr.  Allen,  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  think 
you  had  passed  the  house  without  calling.  If  you 
have  so  few  friends  in  Auburn,  I  shall  hope  to  set 
all  the  more  of  you." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  replied,  much  impressed 
with  her  frankness.  "  I  think  it  must  be  impossible 
for  one  like  you,  who  has  lived  so  long  here,  to 
understand  the  oppressive  loneliness  of  the  place  at 
first  to  one  who,  like  me,  has  passed  all  of  his  life  in 
much  more  busy  localities.  It  is  true  I  came  here 
for  the  very  change  of  which  I  speak — the  change 
from  the  hurly-burly  of  travel  and  of  cities  to  the 
calm  peace  of  the  country.  But  at  first  the  stillt 


IM  IBB  HUSBAND'S  FBIKND, 

—the  lack  of  animation,  of  crowds,  of  the  rattle  and 
noise  to  which  I  had  been  so  long  accustomed—- 
almost drove  me  mad.  When  you  add  to  that  the 
absence  of  any  one  to  talk  to  except  the  hotel  people 
and  the  occasional  transient  guests  there,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  stick  to  my  resolu- 
tion and  remain.  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you,  but  I 
fear  your  husband  will  experience  something  of  the 
same  feeling  when  he  returns  from  Europe,  though, 
of  course,  he  will  have  the  advantage  over  me  of 
wife  and  children  to  mitigate  the  effect." 

He  had  not  intended  to  utter  the  concluding  sen- 
tence. It  may  almost  be  said  to  have  uttered 
itself.  He  had  got  into  a  habit  of  letting  his  words 
flow  as  they  pleased  when  he  talked  with  her. 

There  are  undoubtedly  advantages  to  be  acquired 
from  residence  in  cities,  not  the  least  of  which  is  the 
habit  of  saying  what  you  do  not  mean,  and  the  quite 
as  prevalent  one  of  doubting  what  others  say  to  you. 
Anna  Darrell,  whose  life  had  been  passed  among 
primitive  surroundings,  was  unfortunately  ignorant 
of  both  of  these  accomplishments.  More  than  this, 
she  had  no  notion  of  the  extent  to  which  Auburn 
had  discussed  her  family  affairs.  She  had  no  idea 
that  a  gentleman  who  happened  to  stay  a  week  at 
the  hotel  would  be  likely  to  hear  anything  whatever 
about  her  private  history.  She  heard  his  remark 
without  the  least  suspicion,  and  replied  with  the 
frankness  that  she  applied  to  everything  : 

"Mr.  Darrell  is  obliged  by  his  business  to  be 
absent  from  home  a  good  deal,"  she  said.  "I 
think  he  has  the  feeling  that  you  have  expressed 
about  country  places.  He  never  seems  content 
while  in  Auburn." 

ti«   pushed  relentlessly  the    opportunity  to   say 


DO  TO*  YlfflT  HEK?"  12ft 

that  he  supposed  he  was  mistaken,  then,  in  the 
supposition  that  she  had  passed  the  whole  of  her  life 
there. 

"  No,  you  are  not,"  she  replied,  with  slightly 
increasing  color.  "  Since  I  was  brought  here  a  child 
I  have  never  been  twenty  miles  from  this  spot.  My 
husband  thinks  it  is  the  best  place  for  the  children 
— Auburn  is  famous  for  its  health,  you  know.  When 
he  travels  he  has  every  moment  occupied,  and  the 
constant  change  from  hotel  to  hotel  and  from  city  to 
city,  would,  he  thinks,  be  unpleasant  for  me." 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  hesitation  in  this  speech, 
and  Mordaunt  marked  each  inflection  with  the 
deepest  interest.  He  had  no  doubt  whatever  of  her 
loyalty.  What  he  wished  to  know  was  whether 
she  was  contented  with  the  life  she  was  leading ; 
whether  she  was  willingly  separated  months  at  a 
time  from  her  husband.  If  she  were  really  satisfied 
that  things  should  continue  as  they  were,  why  should 
he  trouble  himself  about  her  ?  He  felt  for  a  moment 
that  there  was  truth  in  Miss  Casson's  arraignment 
of  a  woman  who  could  endure  it  for  eight  years 
without  a  protest.  Then  he  took  a  look  at  the  face 
before  him,  and  marked  the  slight  flush  that  had 
come  with  her  answer. 

He  meant  to  know  whether  she  cared,  and  how 
much.  He  might  not  find  out  that  evening,  but — 
he  meant  to  know. 

"  And  you  never  feel  lonesome  here,  during  these 
long  journeys,  when  you  are  without  him  ?"  he 
asked,  taking  care  not  to  put  too  much  meaning 
into  his  tone. 

"  I— I  have  the  children." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  !"  he  replied.  "  I  suppose  they 
•re  in  bed  before  this  hour.  I  have  thought  ef  them 


136  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

often.  They  are  great  company  for  you,  especially 
the  elder  one.  Still,  it  must  be  a  deprivation  to 
have  their  father  gone  so  much.  Not  only  for  you, 
if  you  will  let  me  say  it,  but  for  him.  I  never 
married,  nor  do  I  think  I  ever  shall,  but  if  I  did  I 
would  never  consent  to  go  into  any  business  that 
would  take  me  away  from  my  family.  It  seems  to 
me  that  no  remuneration,  however  great,  would 
compensate  for  such  a  loss.  I  might  make  occasional 
trips,  but  to  travel  without  them,  month  after 
month,  year  after  year,  it  would  simply  be  impossible 
for  me.  I  hope,  for  all  your  sakes,  that  Mr.  Darrell 
will  make  his  fortune  early  in  life  and  retire  from 
business.  It  would  be  quite  like  another  honey- 
moon when  you  had  him  all  the  time  again." 

This  was  bold  enough,  if  what  he  wanted  was  to 
provoke  a  response.  The  rounded  bosom  of  the 
wife  rose  and  fell  with  a  rapidity  that  revealed  the 
agitation  she  was  trying  her  best  to  conceal.  He 
offered  her  an  opportunity  to  speak,  but  she  could 
not  trust  herself  with  words  just  then. 

"  I  once  knew  a  steamer  captain,"  he  continued, 
seeing  that  he  was  making  an  impression,  "  who  was 
obliged  on  account  of  his  profession  to  be  absent 
from  his  wife  five  weeks  at  a  time.  He  told  me  that 
she  had  all  she  could  do  during  the  first  year  of 
their  marriage  to  keep  him  from  throwing  up  his  posf- 
tion,  which  was  a  very  good  one,  as  those  things  go 
I  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  him  several  times,  and, 
after  once  unbosoming  himself  to  me  on  the  subject, 
it  seemed  as  if  he  could  talk  of  nothing  ehc.  '  I've 
got  the  finest  boat  on  this  line/ he  used  to  say, 'and 
I  draw  as  good  pay  as  any  of  them,  but  I'm  not 
going  to  stand  this  all  my  life,  with  me  on  the  sea  or 
at  Liverpool,  and  my  Martha  and  the  little  ones  at 


"WHY  DO  YOU  VISIT  HER?"  Ii7 

New  York.  No,  sir.  We're  just  saving  every  penny 
we  can  get  our  hands  on,  and  as  soon  as  there's 
enough  to  pay  for  a  decent  interest  in  a  sailing 
vessel  I'll  change  my  keel  and  go  as  an  ordinary 
skipper.  It's  against  the  rules  of  this  line  for  an 
officer  to  have  any  of  his  relations  aboard,  even  if  he 
pays  their  passage,  but  on  a  barque  or  schooner  I 
can  take  them  all,  and  there's  no  one  to  hinder.' 
The  last  time  I  was  in  New  York  I  met  him  in  the 
street,  and  his  face  shone  like  the  brass  plates  on  a 
new  engine.  '  I've  got  a  craft  now,'  he  said,  '  where 
I  can  take  them  all,  and  we're  going  to  sail  next  week 
for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  My  cabin  ain't  quite 
as  roomy  as  the  house  we've  had  in  Harlem,  and  the 
back-yard  is  rather  restricted,  and  the  profits  won't 
be  likely  to  come  up  to  the  salary  I  got  on  the 
steamer,  but  we'll  be  together  /'  As  he  grasped  my 
hand  with  his  great  paw,  nearly  dislocating  all  the 
ipints,  I  realized  all  the  happiness  he  felt,  and  con- 
gratulated him  warmly  before  going  to  a  drug  store 
for  a  bottle  of  arnica." 

He  threw  in  the  witticism  at  the  end,  for  he  saw  a 
drooping  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  like  that  of  a 
child  who  is  on  the  point  of  crying.  He  was  afraid 
to  ler  her  say  anything,  and  he  went  on. 

"You  know  the  saying,  Mrs.  Darrell,  that  'old 
maids  have  the  best  children.'  It  must  seem  quite 
ridiculous  to  hear  a  bachelor  enthusing  over  the 
delights  of  constant  association  between  husband 
and  wife,  but  my  theories  are  harmless  ones,  or  will 
be  if  they  don't  bore  you  too  much.  I  am  not  single 
from  conviction  that  it  is  the  best  state  in  which  to 
live,  but  merely  because  the  woman  whom  I  could  love 
as  I  think  a  wife  should  be  loved  never  came  across 
my  path.  When  I  do  marry,  if  you  chance  to  know 


A  MSB  HUSBAND'S 

me  then,  I  will  show  you  a  pattern  of  devotion.  I 
met  once,  out  in  Africa,  an  English  nobleman,  who 
was  returning  with  his  wife  from  a  tour  of  hundreds 
of  miles  through  the  heart  of  that  savage  country. 
She  had  been  with  him  for  three  years,  where  no 
white  woman  had  ever  gone  before,  dressed  for  con- 
venience in  a  semi-masculine  costume,  carrying  a 
gun  and  riding  a  horse  with  as  much  ease  as  any 
man  in  the  party.  The  husband  told  me  that  he  had 
got  ready  to  go  on  this  journey  without  her  and 
went  to  bid  her  good-by,  when  they  both  discovered 
that  they  simply  could  not  endure  it.  It  was  im- 
possible to  give  up  the  expedition,  and  there  was 
nothing  for  the  wife  to  do  but  pack  a  hand-bag  and 
go  along.  She  took  a  comb  and  brush — and  a  little 
mirror,  of  course — and  just  as  few  other  things  as 
was  possible.  For  three  years  she  had  been,  he  told 
me,  not  only  no  impediment  to  him  in  those  wilds, 
but  a  real  pleasure  and  assistance.  I  almost  envied 
that  couple,  I  assure  you.  If  I  could  find  a  woman 
like  that  I  might  give  up  my  own  condition  of  single 
blessedness." 

He  laughed  at  this  in  a  way  that  was  quite  con- 
tagious,  and  she  could  not  help  smiling  a  little.  It 
was  easier  for  her  to  listen  to  this  man  than  to  talk 
to  him.  He  thought  it  best  to  leave  the  subject 
where  it  was,  and  accordingly  began  to  discuss  the 
Paris  book,  which  he  took  up  and  opened.  By  deft 
questioning,  he  found  that  she  had  read  most  of  it, 
and  that  it  interested  her. 

"I  have  never  read  many  books,"  she  said  simply, 
"  but  I  mean  to  now.  The  children  are  less  care 
than  they  were,  and  I  shall  have  more  time." 

**  May  I  send  for  some  of  mine  and  lend  them  to 
you  ?"  he  asked,  impetuously.  "  I  have  rows  and 


"WHY  DO  YOU  VISIT  HBB?"  Ut 

rows  of  them  in  New  York,  doing  no  good  to  any- 
body." 

"  You  are  kind  to  offer  it,"  she  replied,  a  but  I 
jroald  prefer  to  buy  my  books  and  Keep  them.  I 
nrould  like  you  to  give  me  a  little  list  of  some  that 
fou  think  I  would  need,  though,  if  it  would  not  be 
isking  too  much." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  I  shall  be 
delighted.  What  will  you  have?  Have  you  any 
choice  among  the  poets  ?  History — that  is  always 
interesting.  Novels,  books  of  travel  and  adventure 
— you  see  there  are  so  many  books,  one  never  reads 
half  of  them.  I  will  write  you  a  list,  just  a  few  that 
I  think  you  will  like,  though  very  likely  there  will 
be  some  that  you  have  already." 

**  You  need  not  be  afraid  that  you  will  include 
many  that  I  have  read,"  she  admitted.  **  I  have 
never  cared  much  for  books  ;  but  now  I  want  them. 
Yes,"  she  repeated,  "  I  want  a  good  many  of  them. 
I  mean  to  read  much,  and  your  advice  will  be  of 
great  value." 

Before  he  went  away  that  evening  he  led  her  into  a 
discussion  regarding  Auburn  and  its  surroundings, 
and  she  gave  him  much  information  regarding  the 
place  and  people.  Talking  on  a  subject  with  which 
she  was  familiar,  her  countenance  threw  off  its 
partially  constrained  expression,  and  she  grew 
animated. 

*'  I  suppose  you  have  relatives  here,**  he  said,  whe« 
he  had  finished  laughing  at  one  of  her  descriptions. 

"  Only  two,"  she  replied,  growing  suddenly  sober. 
"  An  unmarried  brother  and  sister  of  my  father. 
They  are  quite  old-fashioned  people.  My  Uncl* 
Ephraim  never  goes  anywhere,  and  my  aunt  took 
offence  at  mv  marriage,  and  now  she  never  calls. 


130  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

either.  I  might  almost  say  I  have  no  relations  in 
Auburn  at  all." 

It  did  not  seem  strange  to  her  that  she  told  him 
this.  She  had  known  him  nearly  two  weeks,  and 
Auburn  was  Arcadia  over  again. 

After  that  night  he  called  often.  There  was  noth- 
ing else  in  Auburn  that  interested  him,  spite  of  the 
little  fables  with  which  he  met  the  few  inhabitants 
with  whom  he  had  occasion  to  discuss  its  beauties  of 
scenery.  He  yawned  away  the  mornings  over  news- 
papers and  the  latest  light  literature.  He  disposed 
of  the  afternoon,  either  at  the  billiard  table,  when  he 
could  find  any  one  to  play  with,  or  exploring  the 
country  roads  when  he  could  not.  He  did  not  mean 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Darrell  every  evening,  but  he  usually 
managed  to  see  her  at  some  hour  in  the  twenty -four. 
He  attended  every  local  affair  that  was  worth  going 
to— and  many  that  were  not — and  it  happened  curi- 
ously that  she  always  knew  he  would  be  there  and 
managed  to  be  present  herself.  A  local  band  gave 
concerts  Monday  and  Wednesday  evenings  on  the 
Common.  There  was  a  "praise  meeting"  Friday 
night.  He  had  not  quite  got  himself  up  to  the  point 
where  he  attended  the  Saturday  evening  prayer 
meeting,  but  he  rather  liked  the  singing,  especially 
since  he  found  that  Anna's  voice  was  one  of  those  he 
would  hear.  There  were  several  Sunday-school  and 
temperance  society  pic-nics  at  Auburn  Lake  Grove, 
in  which  he  developed  an  astonishing  interest,  and 
she  was  usually  on  the  committee  of  arrangements. 

Sunday  there  was  the  sermon,  of  course,  which  he 
never  missed.  He  could  sit  in  Mr.  Upham's  pew 
and  see  her  profile  for  an  hour.  On  Tuesdays, 
Thursdays  and  Saturdays  he  was  pretty  sure  to 
**drop  in  "  after  supper,  and  many  other  times  h« 


""WHY   DO   YOU   VISIT   HER?"  181 

"happened"  to  walk  home  with  her  from  some 
public  occasion  and  talk  half  an  hour  at  the  gate 
before  they  parted.  In  this  way  he  found  it  worth 
his  while  to  remain  in  Auburn  all  the  rest  of  the 
summer. 

To  be  sure,  he  went  away  occasionally,  for  a  few 
days  at  a  time,  to  New  York  or  Boston,  generally 
Boston.  Miss  Casson  gave  up  her  Thursday  even- 
ings during  August,  but  received  regularly  on  Sun- 
days. There  were  so  many  of  her  followers,  she 
said,  who  were  unable  to  leave  with  the  fashiona- 
ble crowd  which  thronged  the  seashore  and  moun- 
tain resorts,  that  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  open  her  doors 
at  least  once  a  week,  even  though  she  had  sometimes 
to  come  from  a  long  distance  to  do  so.  Once  or 
twice  Mordaunt  remained  over  until  Monday  at 
her  request,  for  private  interviews,  but  there  was 
very  little  said  on  these  occasions  that  is  worth 
recording.  All  she  seemed  to  desire  was  to  reassure 
him  of  her  regard,  and  to  avail  herself  of  h's  infor- 
mation in  reference  to  certain  events  that  were 
transpiring.  They  always  spoke  about  Darrell,  in  a 
general  way,  but  both  were  careful  to  avoid  being 
drawn  into  another  argument,  in  which  they  would 
be  sure  to  differ. 

At  the  Sunday  evening  affairs,  Clarkson,  who  never 
failed  to  materialize,  seemed  to  grow  moodier  week 
by  week.  Those  who  knew  him  best  were  com- 
pletely at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  manner.  Mrs. 
St.  John  remarked  several  times  to  Miss  Everest  that 
he  had  become  so  dull  she  was  almost  sorry  for 
bringing  him.  But  Clarkson  could  never  be  dull 
in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Everest.  She  listened  to  every 
word  that  he  uttered  as  if  it  were  the  speech  of  an 
oracle.  She  could  see  without  the  least  trouble  that 


132  HES  HUSBAND'S   FRIEND. 

he  had  taken  a  jealousy  of  Mordaunt,  for  which  she 
was  quite  confident  he  had  no  just  grounds.  In 
fact,  he  seemed  displeased  at  every  sign  of  confi- 
dence which  Miss  Casson  had  with  any  of  her  other 
guests,  and  was  clearly  the  unhappiest  of  men. 

One  evening  he  designedly  left  the  house  in  com- 
pany with  Mordaunt,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  alone 
he  launched  into  the  subject  that  was  consuming 
him. 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing,"  he  said, 
nervously.  "  I  demand  it  as  a  right,  as  a  matter  of 
fairness  between  man  and  man.  Let  me  know 
without  equivocation.  Do  you  love  Miss  Casson  ?" 

Until  he  reached  the  words  themselves,  Mordaunt 
had  no  conception  of  what  he  meant  to  say.  He 
had  supposed  that  the  coming  question  would  refer 
entirely  to  Edmund  Darrell.  But  as  he  glanced  at 
Clarkson's  pale  face  he  could  not  help  seeing  that 
he  was  terribly  in  earnest. 

"Such  an  idea  never  entered  my  head,"  he  replied, 
candidly,  repressing  his  inclination  to  say  that  :' 
was  none  of  his  business. 

"Then  why,"  continued  the  other,  in  a  half- 
fhoking  voice,  "  why  do  you  visit  her  in  private?" 

Mordaunt  bridled  a  little  at  this. 

**  You  have  been  acting  the  spy,  have  you  ?"  he 
«aid,  coldly. 

**  Yes  !"  cried  Clarkson.  "  When  a  man  is  in  my 
condition  of  mind  he  will  do  anything.  I  love  her! 
She  knows  it !  I  think  everybody  knows  it ! 
When  I  first  found  it  out  Darrell  was  in  the  way. 
He  had  gone  out  of  the  city,  but  people  were  always 
talking  about  him  when  they  mentioned  her  name. 
Four  months  have  passed,  and  still  he  does  not 
return.  Some  are  saying  that  he  never  will.  I  was 


""WMY  DO  YOG   T1SET  BSB  f*  j#fe 

just  beginning  to  have  hope  when  you  came.  She 
pays  more  attention  to  you  than  to  any  one  else 
who  attends  her  soirees.  You  go  to  her  house  on 
other  days  and  remain  for  hours.  Why  is  it,  if  there 
is  no  love  between  you  ?  Why,  I  say  !"  And  he 
paused  on  the  sidewalk  overcome  by  the  violence 
of  his  emotions. 

Mordaunt  found  his  angry  feelings  melting  away 
before  the  evident  suffering  of  his  companion. 

"  Mr.  Clarkson,"  he  began,  slowly,  "  the  three  or 
four  conferences  which  I  have  had  with  Miss  Casson 
have  been  solely  on  business  matters.  If  I  had  any 
intention  of  marrying,  1  assure  you  she  would  be  the 
last  person  in  the  world  of  whom  I  should  think  in 
that  connection.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  may 
set  your  mind  wholly  at  rest." 

Clarkson  searched  his  face,  and  seemed  satisfied 
of  the  truthfulness  of  this  answer. 

"  But  about  Darrell,"  he  asked,  suddenly.  "  Can 
you  tell  me  whether  I  am  in  danger  from  him  ?** 

"  I  have  no  right  to  say  anything  about  that,"  was 
the  reply.  "  I  think,  however,  that  Mr.  Darrell  has 
no  intention  whatever  of  offering  marriage  to  the 
lady  in  question." 

**  But  she  loves  him  !M 

M  They  are  friends  of  many  years  standing,  that  is 
all.  I  am  quite  sure  that  matrimony  is  thought  of 
by  neither  of  them." 

Clarkson  grasped  Mordaunt's  hand  warmly. 

"  Thank  you  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  fervor.  "  You 
have  given  me  new  life  !" 

Mordaunt  regarded  him  with  great  curiosity. 

**  It  does  not  follow,"  he  pursued,  "  that  Miss  Cas- 
son will  look  with  favor  upon  your  suit.  I  incline  to 
the  belief  that  she  is  single  from  choice  and 


134  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

to  remain  so.  She  is  not  young,"  he  added,  point* 
edly  ;  "  past  her  teens  at  least,  and  too  full  of  ambi« 
tion  and  socialistic  purposes,  j  should  say,  to  think 
much  of  anything  else." 

But  Clarkson  would  not  so  easily  give  up  the  hopes 
which  he  had  formed. 

*'  I  know  what  you  think,"  he  said — "  that  I  am 
too  much  her  junior.  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  three 
or  four  years  older  than  I.  This  should  be  no  objec- 
tion on  her  part,  and  if  I  am  content,  who  is  to  care  ? 
She  is  bound  up  in  Socialism,  you  say.  Well,  I  am 
no  less  so.  She  has  not  an  opinion  on  that  subject 
which  I  do  not  share.  Why  should  she  treat  me  as 
*he  does  ?" 

He  looked  so  pitiable  that  Mordaunt  found  his 
*ympathies  increasing,  to  his  great  surprise. 

"  If  you  wish  me  to  advise  you — "  he  began,  and 
atopped  short. 

44  That  is  just  it !" 

"Well,  then,  I  should  say,  to  begin  with,  that 
women  are  not  won  in  the  way  you  have  adopted." 

Clarkson  did  not  speak,  but  he  listened  atten- 
tively. 

•*  How  may  a  woman  be  won  ?"  pursued  Mor- 
daunt, speaking  like  a  Professor  of  the  science. 
**By  exciting  in  her  breast  admiration  at  first,  and 
affection  afterward.  No  man  can  excite  admiration 
who  exhibits  a  bad  temper  at  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion, who  never  is  seen  to  smile,  and  who  shows 
irritability  on  all  occasions.  Such  conduct  must 
breed  aversion,  no  matter  how  favorably  the  lady 
might  have  been  inclined  toward  the  suitor." 

Clarkson  broke  in,  at  that,  savagely  : 

M  How  easy  it  is  to  preach  !  You  would  have  me 
•mile,  I  suppose,  and  act  t^e  ^art  of  unconcern  when 


"WHY  DO  YOC  TWT  HKK/  135 

my  heart  is  being  torn  by  the  coldness  she  shows  to 
me  and  the  warmth  she  gives  to  others  J" 
"  The  Spartan  boy  did  just  that,"  replied  Mordaunt 

*  He  smilingly  denied  having  stolen  the  fox  which 
was  at  the  moment  gnawing  him  to  death  under  his 
coat.     He  did  that  merely  to  avoid  being  proved  a 
thief.     Cannot  you  do  as  much  for  a  woman  you 
love  ?" 

A  groan  was  his  only  answer. 

"The  man  whose  hand  trembles  can  never  expect 
to  hit  a  bull's-eye,"  said  Mordaunt,  fluently.  "  The 
English  language  is  full  of  proverbs  to  fit  your  case  : 

*  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady.'     *  None  but  the 
brave  deserve  the  fair.'     I  do  not  say  that  you  can 
ever  marry  Laura  Casson,  but  I  do  tell  you  that  your 
greatest     need    is    courage.       Yes,    courage !"     he 
repeated,  putting  his   hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"And  I  will  add  this,  if  it  will  do  you  any  good.     I 
wish  with  all  my  heart  that  she  would  accept  you, 
and  that  the  ceremony  could  take  place  to-morrow.'' 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Clarkson,  looking  at  him  seareh- 
ingly. 

**  I  have  my  reasons." 

"If  there  is  any  way  in  which  you  can  aid  m«, 
then  I  may  call  apon  you  ?" 

"  Certainly.  Here  is  my  address,  both  here  and 
in  New  York.  I  am  absent  a  good  deal,  but  my  mail 
is  promptly  forwarded." 

"  I  cannot  leave  you  without  repeating  that  I  do 
not  think  Miss  Casson  desires  to  marry,"  added 
Mordaunt,  as  they  parted.  "  But  for  all  that  I 
wish  you  well,  and  shall  be  pleased  if  I  hear  of 
your  success.  Only,  remember  two  or  three  things. 
Go  to  her  hereafter  with  a  cheerful  face.  Don't 
Ux>k  like  a  thunder  cloud  if  she  speaks  to  som* 


130  tOOt   HUSBAND'S   FEIEN1X 

athtr  man.  Don't  press  your  attention*  anduiy 
And  above  all  things  remember  that  Rome  was 
not  built  in  m  day,  and  that  Jacob  served  fourteen 
years  for  Rachel  Au  revoir  P 

The  inmmer  wore  on,  Mordannt  did  not  go  to 
Boston  again  for  some  weeks,  but  stayed  in  Aubutn, 
where  things  were  more  to  his  liking.  Steadily  he 
had  grown  in  the  good  graces  of  Mrs,  Darrell,  until 
•he  listened  for  his  step  as  naturally  as  she  did  for 
those  of  her  children,  and  found  herself  growing 
impatient  if  he  did  not  come  at  his  usual  hour. 
Sometimes  he  took  little  Alice  and  Ethel  to  ride  in 
his  wagon  and  both  of  them  grew  very  fond  of 
him.  He  could  not  take  their  mother — that  would 
have  passed  the  limits  even  of  Auburn  decorum,  but 
he  generally  contrived  to  let  her  know  in  which 
direction  he  intended  to  drive  of  an  afternoon,  and 
•he  somehow  happened  to  take  the  same  roads  with 
her  little  ones  and  meet  him  at  some  place  where 
they  could  rest  their  horses  under  the  trees  and  gain 
another  hour's  chat  together.  The  two  or  three 
farmers  who  chanced  to  see  them  while  thus  engaged 
never  gave  the  matter  a  second  thought.  They 
took  off  their  hats  with  old-fashioned  courtesy  to 
Mrs.  Darrell,  and  Mordaunt  lost  nothing  of  their 
esteem  by  raising  his  own  with  equal  grace  in 
return. 

Not  a  look  was  ever  exchanged,  not  a  word  was 
ever  spoken,  that  all  America  might  not  hav^  seen 
and  heard — if  only  all  America  were  not  so  suspicious 
and  unreasonable. 

Anna  had  procured  the  books  he  told  her  of,  and 
read  them  with  avidity.  Most  of  the  conversation^ 
which  they  held  referred  to  the  great  poets  or  dramat- 


"WHY  DO  YOU  VISIT  HBB?"  137 

ists  or  historians  and  their  works.  He  knew  so  much 
that  interested  her,  now  that  this  new  world  was  so 
suddenly  opened  up.  Her  respect  for  his  knowledge 
grew  with  every  day  they  were  together.  To  her 
untutored  mind  he  was  an  encyclopaedia  of  all  learn- 
ing. But  once,  when  she  hinted  as  much,  he 
laughed  and  said  he  had  wasted  the  time  that  he 
should  have  devoted  to  study  and  was  called  upon 
too  often  to  realize  the  depths  of  his  own  ignorance. 

"  If  you  call  yourself  ignorant,  what  must  you 
think  of  me  ?"  she  asked,  with  self-abnegation. 

"Oh,  you  will  soon  surpass  your  instructor,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "  Had  your  opportunities  been  as 
good  as  mine  I  should  have  had  to  blush  more  than 
I  do  now  for  my  misspent  hours.  Since  I  left  col- 
lege I  have  had  nothing  to  do  and  have  done  a  great 
deal  of  it.  You  have  formed  a  taste  for  reading, 
and  will  soon  be  familiar  with  the  best  authors. 
When  I  leave  Auburn  you  will  have  more  time,  as  I 
shall  not  be  coming  in  to  disturb  your  evenings." 

She  turned  very  white,  and  was  conscious  of  a 
momentary  giddiness. 

"  You — will — leave  Auburn  ?"  she  articulated. 

"  Not  yet ;  but  by-and-by,  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
to  go.  I  have  stayed  much  longer  than  I  at  first 
intended.  You  have  made  it  very  pleasant  for  me 
here." 

He  said  this  guardedly,  ready  to  qualify  the 
expression  if  she  wished  it,  but  she  did  not  seem  to 
take  alarm. 

"  It  is  you  who  have  made  it  pleasant  for  me," 
she  replied,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

He  laughed,  thinking  it  would  cheer  her,  and  said 
he  was  glad  if  he  had  done  so.  "  But,"  he  added, 
M  you  know  you  are  expecting  your  husband  home 


138  HER  HUSBAND'S  FKIENJD. 

soon.  After  his  long  absence  he  will  hardly  care  to 
share  even  a  little  of  your  time  with  strangers." 

She  called  to  the  children,  without  replying,  tell- 
ing them  to  return  at  once  to  the  pony  carriage. 
They  had  wandered  into  an  adjacent  field,  and  came 
back  with  their  hands  full  of  wild-flowers. 

Mordaunt  drove  back  to  town,  as  was  his  custom, 
by  a  roundabout  road,  and  was  much  astonished  and 
annoyed,  when  he  happened  to  glance  at  the  register 
of  the  hotel,  to  see  the  name  "  George  Clarkson," 
written  in  a  bold  hand  thereon.  He  immediately 
sought  out  the  landlord  and  called  his  attention  to 
the  signature. 

"I  do  not  want  that  man  to  know  that  I  am  here," 
he  said.  "  You  may  send  my  meals  to  my  room  until 
further  notice." 

As  he  turned  around,  he  found  Clarkson  at  his 
elbow,  and  knew  that  every  word  he  had  uttered 
must  have  been  heard  by  him.  But  he  was  not  in 
the  least  disconcerted.  Extending  his  hand  he 
exclaimed  with  incredible  glibness  : 

"  Hallo  !  What  the  devil  brings  you  down  to  this 
God-forsaken  place  ?" 


«  MT  HUSBAND  1  TOU  KNOW   HIM.f"  189 

CHAPTER  IX. 

"  MY  HUSBAND  !  YOU  KNOW  HIM  ?  " 

Mr.  George  Clarkson  had  made  rapid  progress 
since  that  evening  when  he  and  Mordaunt  had  talk- 
ed so  long  together  after  leaving  Laura  Casson's 
house.  So  marked  was  the  change  in  his  demeanor 
that  Miss  Casson  could  not  help  noticing  it,  and  it 
very  favorably  impressed  her.  She  treated  him 
with  more  cordiality  than  before,  and  raised  his  hopes 
so  high  that  he  restrained  himself  with  difficulty 
from  a  too  precipitate  avowal  of  his  love.  But  still, 
between  him  and  the  object  he  had  in  view,  Edmund 
Darrell  always  arose  like  a  spectre.  He  heard  a 
good  deal  about  him  from  Miss  Everest  and  others, 
and  whispers  that  he  was  soon  expected  home  began 
to  trouble  him  seriously.  It  was  hardly  possible  tc» 
maintain  the  serenity  of  expression  upon  which  he 
had  resolved. 

The  question  whether  Darrell  was  already  married 
was  often  broached,  and  Clarkson  determined  to 
settle  it  if  he  could.  It  was  not  advisable  to  make 
too  many  inquiries  of  the  circle  at  Miss  Casson's, 
and  for  some  time  he  progressed  slowly;  but  one 
day,  while  looking  over  an  old  Boston  directory,  he 
hit  by  pure  accident  upon  the  right  thread.  Accom- 
panying the  name  of  Darrell's  firm  were  these  words: 
"Edmund  Darrell,  house  at  Auburn,  Mass." 

Here  was  a  clue  indeed !  Reference  to  later 
directories  showed  that  the  words  last  quoted  were 
missing,which  convinced  Clarkson  that  they  had  been 
omitted  either  by  special  request  or  on  account  of 


140  OTR  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

change  in  residence.  At  any  rate,  it  was  an  easy 
thing  to  go  to  Auburn  and  make  investigations. 
Somebody  there  would  be  sure  to  know  the  Darrell 
family,  and  in  case  they  had  moved  away  the  post- 
master would  undoubtedly  have  the  new  address. 
The  question  of  wife  and  children  could  be  solved 
much  easier  where  the  Darrells  lived  than  in  Boston. 

As  there  was  but  one  hotel  in  Auburn,  Clarkson 
could  not  very  well  avoid  running  across  Mordaunt 
about  the  first  thing  he  did.  Neither  of  the  men 
was  glad  to  see  the  other  there,  for  each  felt  that  his 
movements  would  now  have  to  be  to  some  extent 
restricted.  Mordaunt  suspected  from  the  first  the 
real  nature  of  Clarkson's  errand,  and  saw  that  it  was 
likely  to  interfere  with  his  cosy  visits  to  Mrs.  Darrell. 
He  could  not,  however,  have  imagined  the  extent 
to  which  the  lover  would  go  in  his  desire  to  remove 
Edmund  from  his  path.  He  could  not  foresee  that 
he  would  make  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Burton  and 
pour  into  her  too  willing  ear  (under  the  strictest 
promise  to  conceal  the  name  of  her  informant)  all 
that  he  knew  pr  guessed  about  Darrell's  visits  to  Miss 
Casson.  Mordaunt  thought  at  first  of  telling  him  the 
truth,  hoping  that  it  would  shorten  his  stay,  but  in 
order  to  do  this  it  might  be  necessary  to  explain 
some  things  about  which  he  did  not  care  to  be  inter- 
rogated. 

In  this  way  several  weeks  went  by,  during  which 
the  two  men  became  a  constant  nuisance  to  each 
other.  They  had  to  pretend  friendship  when  they 
met,  and  they  played  a  game  of  billiards  together 
once  in  a  while,  but  neither  was  in  the  least  deceiv- 
ed. Clarkson  soon  found  out  what  he  came  to  learn 
and  had  the  additional  satisfaction  of  getting  Aunt 
Burton  to  help  him  in  his  work.  He  might  have  left 


-MF  HUSBAND!  YOU  KNOW  mitf9         141 

town  then,  except  for  his  wish  to  watch  Mordaunt, 
whose  presence  there  troubled  him  not  a  little.  He 
went  to  Boston  each  Saturday,  not  liking  to  miss 
seeing  the  object  of  his  adoration  on  Sunday  even- 
ing, but  he  always  returned  on  the  Monday  morn- 
ing train.  Had  it  not  been  for  this  brief  respite, 
Mordaunt  might  have  had  the  unpleasant  experience 
of  living  in  that  dull  village  week  after  week,  without 
even  speaking  to  the  woman  whose  presence  chain- 
ed him  there.  When  she  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
call  oftener  he  made  evasive  replies,  which  caused 
her  no  little  distress.  He  had  always  seemed  so 
frank  about  everything,  that  the  least  symptom  of 
hesitation  gave  her  much  uneasiness.  She  assigned 
every  reason  but  the  right  one  to  his  changed  man- 
ner, and  the  situation  grew  very  unpleasant  for  them 
both. 

Miss  Burton  was  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  willing 
to  leave  Anna  in  ignorance  of  what  she  had  learned. 
When  Anna  declined  to  do  anything  but  wait  until 
her  husband  came  home,  her  aunt  paid  an  immediate 
visit  to  the  office  of  the  village  lawyer,  Mr.  Jacobs, 
and  directed  him  to  draw  up,  without  delay,  a  new 
will  for  her  brother  Ephraim.  The  lawyer  knew  the 
Burtons  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  Ephraim  would 
sign  anything  that  his  sister  told  him  to,  and  readily 
promised  to  set  about  the  work  at  once.  He  was 
rather  busier  than  usual  that  week,  however,  and 
Miss  Burton  got  quite  uneasy. 

"  Has  Jacobs  said  anything  more  to  you  about 
the  new  will  ?"  she  asked  her  brother,  when  nearly  * 
•ortnight  had  gone  by. 

"  Only  that  he's  very  busy  and  is  going  to  write  it 
as  soon  as  he  can." 

*'  How  long  did  he  think  we  were  ffomg  to  wait 


142  HSR  HUSBAND'S  FEIKMD. 

for  him  ?"  snapped  the  woman,  her  black  eyes  dilat- 
ing. "  You  tell  him  to-morrow  that  if  he  doesn't  get 
it  done  this  week  I  shall  go  over  to  Brixton." 

"Yes,  Mettie." 

"If  anything  should  happen  to  you,"  continued 
Miss  Burton,  "  every  penny  of  our  money  would  go 
t»  those  Darrells  after  I  am  through  with  it.  I  hate 
to  have  it  left  in  that  way  a  day  longer.  I  have  told 
Anna  out-and-out  what  we  are  going  to  do,  and  if 
she  won't  listen  to  reason  she  must  take  the  con- 
sequences." 

"Yes,  Mettie." 

Ephraim  might  have  been  only  a  lay  figure  with  a 
capacity  for  uttering  set  phrases  for  all  the  initiative 
he  ever  took  with  his  sister.  She  went  on  talking  to 
him,  more  to  free  her  mind  than  because  it  made  the 
least  difference  whether  he  agreed  with  her  or  not. 

"That  young  Mr.  Clarkson  coming  here  at  this 
time  was  very  fortunate,"  she  proceeded.  "  After 
what  he  told  me  I  was  sure  that  the  rumors  I  had 
heard  in  Boston  were  true.  Anna  pretended  not  to 
believe  a  word,  as  long  as  there  was  any  use  in  pre- 
tending, and  then  said 'she  should  wait  until  her 
husband  came  home,  to  give  him  a  chance  to'deny  it, 
if  he  would.'  I  never  was  so  out  of  patience  in  my 
life.  Of  course  he  will  deny  it,  and  she  is  just  ninny 
enough  to  believe  him  !  Oh,  the  stuff  and  nonsense 
she  talked  to  me!  'She  couldn't  believe  anything 
about  the  father  of  her  children,'  she  said.  '  Per- 
haps she  hadn't  done  her  whole  duty  herself.'  '  He 
was  a  literary  man  and  couldn't  be  expected  to  stay 
in  a  dull  place  like  Auburn/  You  can  believe  I 
knew  how  to  answer  her.  '  You've  had  eight  years 
or  more  of  this  sort  of  marriage,'  I  said,  'and  I 
should  think  that  was  long  enough  trial  to  give  any 


"MY  HUSBAND  I  YOU  IMOW  HIM?**          144 

man.  He  has  been  gone  this  time  most  six  months 
and  you  are  getting  to  be  the  laughing  stock  of  the 
whole  place.  When  he  comes  back,  you'll  run 
down  the  walk  to  meet  him,  as  you've  always  done, 
and  throw  your  arms  around  his  neck.  It  is  dis- 
gusting !  And  he  off  flirting  with  other  women, 
while  you  are  slaving  for  his  young  ones  !'  Of 
course  she  cried,  and  said,  'she  couldn't  believe  he 
could  do  anything  wrong,  and  that  she  loved  him 
very  much  ' — faugh  ! — and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
never  could  have  thought  a  Burton  would  act  so  !" 

The  spinster  paused  from  sheer  exhaustion  at  her 
own  rapid  speech. 

"  I  told  her  not  to  be  a  little  dunce,  but  to  stand  up 
for  her  rights  like  a  woman,"  she  went  on,  presently, 
to  the  lay  figure.  I  said,  " '  Here  is  the  name  where 
he  visits  at  Boston,  and  the  very  street  and  number. 
Will  you  go  down  there  or  send  some  one  to  watch 
them  when  he  comes  from  Europe  ?  You  can  get  a 
divorce  and  make  him  pay  a  good  sum  as  alimony.' 
But  she  wouldn't  consent  to  anything.  She  would 
only  say  that  when  he  came  she  would  ask  him 
about  it,  and  she  couldn't  tell  what  she  would  do 
until  she  heard  his  side  of  the  story.  Then  I  got 
provoked  in  earnest.  '  You  haven't  anything  of  your 
own,'  I  said,  '  but  this  house,  and  I  suppose  you  are 
relying  on  me  to  support  you  when  your  fine  hus- 
band goes  off  for  good  with  his  sweetheart.  Now 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  won't  ever  get  a  dollar  of 
mine  as  long  as  you  stick  to  that  man.  When  he 
stops  sending  his  checks  you  can  go  to  the  poor- 
house  for  all  of  me.  I  will  have  the  will  changed 
before  I  am  a  week  older.'  And  then  I  walked  out 
of  the  house,  leaving  her  crying  like  a  baby.  Oh  !  I 
wish  she  had  half  of  my  spunk  !  She  wouldn't  go  on 


144  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIBUD. 

year  after  year  letting  that  Darrell  fool  her  as  be 
does  I" 

"Yes,  Metric." 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  call  for  any  other 
reply  on  the  part  of  the  lay  figure.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  clock  struck  nine  and  the  signal  was  imme- 
diately recognized  by  both  of  them.  For  thirty 
years  and  more  they  had  gone  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock 
and  risen  at  five,  summer  and  winter.  Ten  minutes 
after  the  ninth  stroke  had  died  away  both  of  them 
were  sound  asleep. 

Aunt  Mettle's  prompt  call  as  soon  as  she  had  her 
story  to  tell,  did  not  add  to  Anna  Darrell's  peace  of 
mind.  The  spinster  had  not  crossed  the  threshold  for 
a  long  time  before  the  day  when  she  came  with  the 
bomb  in  her  hands  and  threw  it  without  pity  into  the 
quiet  house.  To  entertain  a  dim  fear  that  her  husband 
had  improper  reasons  for  his  long  absenses  was  one 
thing ;  to  have  a  name  given  her,  with  a  number  and 
street,  was  quite  another.  She  had  no  one  to  go  to 
— poor  child! — with  her  troubles.  And  it  seemed 
especially  hard,  just  at  this  time,  that  "  Mr.  Allen," 
whose  presence  had  been  such  a  consolation,  should 
come  so  seldom  and  at  his  infrequent  visits  appear 
so  constrained  and  unnatural. 

The  situation  grew  so  painful  at  last  that  Mor- 
daunt  resolved,  at  whatever  cost,  to  have  an  under- 
standing with  Clarkson.  One  evening  they  strolled 
down  the  street  together  and  he  opened  the  conver- 
sation. 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  expect  to  stay  in 
Auburn." 

Clarkson  laughed. 

"  It  is  a  curious  thing  that  I  was  just  on  the  point 
of  asking  you  the  same  question,"  he  said. 


"ICT  HUSKAND!  too  KNOW  Hmf          145 

"Oh,  as  for  me,"  responded  Mordaunt,  *I  may 
stay  here  forever,  for  all  I  know.  Being  without 
any  business,  one  place  is  the  same  to  me  as  another.'5 

"You  seem  to  find  this  one  very  agreeable,"  said 
the  other,  in  a  sly  tone. 

Mordaunt  couldn't  help  understanding  this  insin- 
uation and  he  flushed  hotly.  But  he  only  said — 

4<  Yes,  very." 

Clarkson  laughed  again. 

"  We  might  as  well  be  honest  with  each  other,"  he 
said,  in  a  familiar  tone.  "  You  know  what  brought 
me  here,  and  I  know  what  keeps  you  here.  I  have 
found  out  what  I  came  to  learn.  And  you — " 

He  paused,  appearing  to  think  that  the  sentence 
did  not  need  finishing,  but  his  look  was  sufficiently 
expressive. 

"You  came  here,"  said  Mordaunt,  slowly,  biting 
off  the  end  of  his  cigar,  "  to  find  out  whether  Edmund 
Darrell  was  married." 

"  Precisely." 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that  the  night  you  arrived, 
or  last  August,  in  Boston,  when  you  wanted  to  know; 
or  years  and  years  ago,  if  I  had  had  the  honor  of 
your  acquaintance." 

Clarkson  looked  not  only  astonished  but  incredu- 
lous. 

"  Years  ago  !"  he  repeated. 

"  Certainly.  Darrell  and  I  were  school-boys  to- 
gether. We  have  been  as  intimate  as  men  can  be. 
I  left  him  last  June  in  Paris,  where  we  stayed  at  the 
same  hotel.  He  writes  to  me  every  week." 

Clarkson  stared  more  and  more. 

"  There  is  some  mystery  about  this,"  he  said. 
"  Why  do  they  call  you  '  Allen '  at  the  hotel  and  in 
the  village  ?" 


146  HER   HUSBAKD'S  FRIXVD. 

"  For  a  very  good  reason,"  was  the  response.  "  It 
is  my  name." 

"  But  there  are  places  where  they  call  you  by  an- 
other name." 

"  Let  me  set  your  mind  at  rest,"  said  Mordaunt, 
coolly.  "  I  have  three  names.  I  was  not  obliged  to 
tell  Miss  Casson  which  was  my  last  one." 

"And  still  I  say  there  is  a  mystery,"  pursued 
Clarkson,  more  puzzled  than  ever.  "  You  say  you 
are  Darrell's  friend.  You  have  passed  months  here 
and  called  frequently  on  his  wife.  Now  it  appears 
that  when  you  go  to  Boston  you  give  Miss  Casson 
an  assumed  name.  You  interest  yourself  in  this 
matter  month  after  month,  though  it  compels  you 
to  spend  most  of  the  summer  in  the  dullest  town  of 
America.  And  Darrell,"  he  paused  to  sum  up, 
"remains  abroad.  What  is  it  all  for?  A-h  !"  he 
exclaimed,  as  if  a  light  had  dawned  upon  him.  "  I 
think  I  see  !" 

"What  do  you  think  you  see?"  asked  Mordaunt, 
inclined  to  be  amused. 

"You  came  here  to  watch  the  wife,"  responded 
Clarkson,  stealthily.  "  The  husband  wants  a 
divorce." 

"I  am  not  flattered  by  your  ridiculous  guess,"  said 
Mordaunt,  with  great  dignity.  "  Can't  you  conceive 
it  possible  that  a  man  may  be  actuated  by  proper 
motives  ?  There  is  no  mystery  whatever  in  my 
movements.  I  have  traveled  for  years  and  am  tired 
of  excitement.  I  came  here  because  the  place  is 
secluded  and  I  am  less  likely  to  run  across  bores. 
Knowing  Darrell  caused  me  to  make  this  selection. 
There  you  have  it." 

Clarkson  was  lost  in  thought  for  several  moments. 

"If  this  is  true/'  he  said,  finally,  "  you  ought  to  be 


"  MY    HUSBAND  !    YOU   KNOW    HIM  ?"  147 

as  anxious  as  I  am  to  keep  Darrell  away  from  Miss 
Casson's." 

"  Why  ?" 

"On  his  wife's  account." 

"I  think  she  is  able  to  manage  alone  her  own 
affairs.  He  has  been  going  there  for  eight  years, 
remember." 

He  had  no  intention  of  making  a  confidant  of  this 
man,  whatever  else  he  might  do. 

"  She  doesn't  care,  then  !"  exclaimed  Clarkson. 

"  All  women  are  not  monomaniacs,"  said  Mor- 
daunt.  "  Mrs.  Darrell  has  never  alluded  to  the  sub- 
ject in  my  presence.  She  adores  her  husband,  and 
to  do  that  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that  she  must 
have  confidence  in  him.  He  makes  no  secret  of  the 
fact  that  he  and  Miss  Casson  are  attached  friends. 
Why,  I  went  to  her  with  a  letter  of  introduction 
from  him." 

He  found  that  he  was  saying  more  than  he  meant 
to,  and  resolved  to  control  his  words. 

"  Does  she  know  that  he  is  married  ?"  Clarkson 
asked,  desperately. 

"  Ah  !"said  Mordaunt.  "That  is  another  question." 

"  I  shall  tell  her  the  next  time  I  see  her.  Or,  at 
least,  I  shall  let  her  see  that  I  know  it." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  that,  if  I  were  you,"  suggested 
Mordaunt.  "  It  may  give  her  an  idea  that  you  are 
jealous,  and  make  no  end  of  trouble.  I  say,"  he 
added,  as  a  thought  struck  him,  "you  haven't  been 
talking  around  this  town,  have  you  ?" 

He  looked  Clarkson  straight  in  the  eye,  and  the 
man  cowered  under  his  gaze. 

"  If  the  wife  knows  it  all,  what  harm  could  it  do  ?" 
said  Clarkson,  insinuatingly,  though  he  seemed 
uneasy,  for  all  that. 


148  HER   HUSBAND  8   FRIEND. 

•'  Have  you  been  talking  to  her  ?"  demanded  Mor- 
daunt,  in  angry  tones. 

"  No — no,  not  to  her,"  stammered  Clarkson. 
"Only  to  a  relative — the  old  aunt,  you  know,  Miss 
Burton. 

"  And  you  told  her — what  ?" 

"I  am  not  obliged  to  answer  you,"  retorted  the 
man,  reddening  very  much. 

"  You  are,  though,"  said  Mordaunt,  threateningly. 
"You  may  have  made  no  end  of  trouble.  That  aunt 
is  capable  of  doing  anything  to  hurt  Mr.  Darrell, 
and  she  hates  his  wife  on  his  account.  She  has  been 
angry  ever  since  he  was  married,  and  would  get 
them  divorced  if  she  could.  If  you  have  stirred  up 
things  here,"  he  added,  angrily,  "  I  will  stir  up 
enough  for  you  somewhere  else  !" 

Clarkson  writhed  under  the  scathing  words. 

"  But  if  she  knew  it  all  before  ?"  he  said,  again. 

"  Knew  it  all?  KnewwAat?  If  she  knows  that 
he  has  a  friend  in  Boston  who  shares  his  views  on 
Socialism,  or  some  other  confounded  rot,  that  is 
one  thing ;  if  you  have  started  suspicions  that  there 
is  infidelity  to  boot,  that  is  quite  another.  I  don't 
know,  and  I  won't  take  your  word  for  it,  either.  I 
am  going  to  Mrs.  Darrell — and  Miss  Burton — and 
find  out.  Yes,  and  after  that  I  shall  go  to  Miss 
Casson  to  tell  her  what  you  have  done  !"  he  contin- 
ued, growing  angrier  as  he  proceeded.  "  You  may 
have  been  up  to  other  mischief,  too.  Mrs.  Darrell 
is  Miss  Burton's  natural  heir.  You  may  have  made 
so  much  feeling  with  your  confounded  stories  that 
she  has  had  her  will  changed.  What  the  dickens 
brought  you  here  anyway  ?  The  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  Co  go  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  tell  the  old  maid 


*  MY    HUSBAND  I    YOU   KNOW   HIM  f  *  1±9 

you  are  a  liar,  and  then  get  out  of  town  on  the  first 
train  !" 
Clarkson  was  very  much  confused,  but  he  tried  to 

put  on  an  air  of  dignity. 

"I  don't  think  you  can  make  me  leave  town 
Until  I  please,"  said  he. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what,"  replied  Mordaunt,  turning 
upon  him  like  a  wolf,  "  if  you  are  in  Auburn  at  noon 
to-morrow,  I  will  kick  you  out  of  it !" 

Without  replying,  Clarkson  turned  abruptly  away, 
and  Mordaunt  walked  towards  the  wood  path  which 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  frequenting.  He  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  himself.  He  could  not  remember  when 
he  had  ever  been  in  such  a  temper  before.  He  walk- 
ed on  until  he  was  comparatively  calm,  and  then, 
though  it  was  Monday  night,  he  bent  his  steps 
towards  the  Darrell  residence.  Before  he  reached 
there  he  believed  he  had  succeeded  in  eradicating 
all  traces  of  excitement  from  his  face,  but  in  this  he 
was  mistaken.  Anna  saw  at  first  glance  that  some- 
thing unusual  had  happened. 

"  You  are  not  well  to-night,  Mr.  Allen  ?"  she  said, 
sympathizingly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  well  enough,"  he  said,  nervously, 
taking  her  hand  and  holding  it,  to  her  momentary 
consternation.  "  I  have  just  had  a  talk  with  a 
scoundrel,  and  it  has  flustered  me  a  little,  that  is  all. 
But  you  must  not  call  me  *Mr.  Allen*  again.  My 
name  is  Mordaunt :  Harold  Allen  Mordaunt" 

"Mordaunt  ?"  she  repeated,  tremblingly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  suddenly  discovering  that  he  was 
nolding  her  hand,  and  releasing  it.  "  That  is  my 
name.  Your  husband  must  have  spoken  of  me  to 
you." 

She  stared  at  him  wildly. 


150  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

"My  husband  !    You  know  him  ?" 

"  I  have  known  him  for  twenty  years." 

"Then  explain  why  you  came  here  under  the 
name  of  Allen." 

"  Don't  ask  me  too  much  to-night.  I  did  it  for  his 
sake  and  yours.  But  the  man  I  have  just  left  has 
been  telling  falsehoods  in  the  village — for  his  own 
purposes.  He  admitted  to  me  that  he  has  been 
talking  to  your  Aunt  Burton." 

She  uttered  a  little  cry  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Falsehoods  !"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  to- 
gether. "  Did  you  say  falsehoods  ?" 

"  Yes,  falsehoods,  insinuations,  I  don't  know  what. 
Anything  but  the  truth.  Has  your  aunt  been  here 
to  poison  your  ears  with  them  ?  I  suspected  it. 
Let  me  urge  you  to  disabuse  your  mind  of  all  that 
she  has  said,  without  a  minute's  hesitation.  The 
wretch  from  whom  she  obtained  them  is  unworthy 
of  the  slightest  credence." 

He  spoke  very  rapidly,  and  his  words  seemed  to 
overcome  her  with  joy. 

"  Why  am  I  here  ?"  he  asked  as  impetuously  as 
before.  "  Because  I  love  your  husband,  because  I 
iove  your  children,  because  I  love  you  !  For  I  do 
love  you,  Anna  Darrell,  and  yet  I  think  not  with 
more  love  than  I  have  a  right  to  give  to  the  wife  of 
my  dearest  friend.  I  love  you,  and  I  love  Edmund, 
and  my  greatest  wish  is  to  see  you  as  closely  united 
as  a  husband  and  wife  should  be.  I  am  not  going 
to  criticise  him  for  what  he  has  done  or  is  doing — 
that  would  not  be  my  right — but  if  there  is  a  deeper 
possibility  of  love  between  you,  I  wish  it  might  be 
yours.  He  is  coming  home  in  a  week  or  two — I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  him  Saturday — and  he  ought 


"  MT  HUSBAND!  YOU  KNOW  HOC  I*          151 

never  to  go  so  long  from  you  again.  As  soon  AS  he 
comes,  I  shall  see  him,  I  shall  tell  him — I — " 

The  violence  of  his  emotion  overcame  him,  and  he 
pressed  his  hands  over  his  face.  Whe»  h  ,  looked 
up  again,  she  was  standing  beside  him. 

"  How  could  he  leave  a  woman  like  you,  and  stay 
away  month  after  month  !"  he  exclaimed,  seizing 
her  hand  once  more.  "You  are  worthy  of  any  man 
who  walks  the  earth  !" 

She  trembled  as  he  touched  her. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  responded,  in  a  whisper. 
"I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  the  interest 
you  have  taken  in  me." 

He  looked  longingly  into  her  face. 

"  I  do  not  love  you  too  much — no,  I  am  sure  I  do 
not,"  he  said,  very  slowly.  "  I  should  have  left 
Auburn  any  time  when  I  discovered  that.  You  do 
not  wish  me  to  go  ?"  he  added. 

"  No  ;  not  from  Auburn;  but  from  the  house  at  this 
time,  yes.  I  am  sure  it  would  be  better." 

"  But  you  have  confidence  in  me  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  oh,  yes  !" 

He  rose  ;  walked  to  the  door  more  firmly  than 
usual ;  paused  at  the  threshold  ;  half  turned  back  ; 
^nd  then  passed  swiftly  down  the  walk  and  into  the 
street 


HC8JUJTD'* 


CHAPTSR  X. 

ITKtT    TUB   SPY   DtSCOVBUQK 

There  is  a  proverb  to  the  effect  that  the  good-wilt, 
even  of  a  dog,  is  preferable  to  his  enmity.  Miss 
Laura  Casson  had  learned  this  lesson  much  better 
than  had  Harold  Allen  MordaunL  It  took  her  but  a 
very  little  while  to  discover  that  George  Clarkson 
could  be  a  very  disagreeable  personage.  When  he 
first  came  to  her  house  she  was  much  attracted  by 
the  bright  way  in  which  he  discussed  social  issues, 
and  thanked  Mrs.  St.  John  warmly  for  bringing  him 
to  her  attention.  But  when  he  precipitately  fell  in 
love  with  her,  as  she  a  little  later  diagnosed  his  com- 
plaint— when  he  ceased  to  say  anything  that  had 
not  in  it  some  touch  of  irony — when  he  began  to 
make  hints  about  Darrell,  to  be  surly  at  the  least 
attention  she  paid  to  any  other  masculine  guest,  and 
to  drop  suggestions  of  a  desire  to  see  her  in  private, 
she  was  not  long  in  changing  her  mind.  She  could 
have  settled  the  matter  by  conveying  to  the  obnox- 
ious young  man  an  intimation  that  his  further 
presence  at  her  receptions  was  not  desirable ;  but 
the  probability  was  that  this  would  only  transfer 
the  field  of  his  operations.  She  did  not  like  him  as 
an  avowed  friend  ;  she  was  not  likely  to  be  better 
pleased  if  she  converted  him  into  a  pronounced 
enemy. 

Her  intention,  therefore  was  to  let  matters  take 
their  own  course,  in  the  b-;<>v*  that  be  would 


WHAT  THE  SPY  DISCOVERED,  153 

toally  see  the  folly  of  his  conduct.  He  was  not  the 
first  man  who  had  been  stricken  with  a  severe  attack 
of  affection  for  her.  She  believed  the  affair  would 
run  its  course  and  die  at  last  of  its  own  accord. 

The  sudden  alteration  in  his  manner,  on  the  night 
following  his  first  conference  with  Mordaunt,  sur- 
prised Miss  Casson  greatly.  The  side  which  he 
presented  her  on  that  occasion  was  one  which  she 
had  never  seen.  He  complimented  her  on  her  looks, 
became  specially  attentive  to  several  gentlemen 
with  whom  she  found  it  necessary  to  confer  at 
length,  and  was  in  general  as  much  unlike  the 
former  Mr.  Clarkson  as  one  could  possibly  conceive. 
But  though  she  was  much  puzzled  by  all  this,  it  did 
not  throw  her  off  her  guard.  She  knew  well  that 
something  unusual  must  have  happened  to  cause 
this  stupendous  change,  and  she  bided  her  time  to 
discover  what  it  was.  When  more  than  a  month 
had  gone  by,  and  his  improved  demeanor  continued^ 
she  was^  obliged  to  admit  to  herself  that  she  could 
make  nothing  of  it.  And  then  there  came  a  day — 
the  one  following  his  stormy  interview  with  Mor- 
daunt, detailed  in  the  last  chapter — when  he  camo 
boldly  to  her  door  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
and  sent  up  his  card  with  the  message  that  he 
wished  to  see  her  on  a  matter  of  importance. 

Miss  Casson's  reception  evenings  were  open,  as 
has  been  stated,  to  the  very  widest  circle  of  people 
of  all  shades  of  opinion,  and  of  all  grades  of  society, 
Her  list  of  individual  friends  whom  she  saw  on 
other  occasions,  was  the  smallest,  perhaps,  possessed 
by  any  lady  in  Boston.  So  generally  was  this 
understood,  that  few  outside  of  her  intimates  ever 
called  upon  her,  except  by  request,  and  those  who  did 
were  almost  invariably  met  with  a  "  Not  at  borne,  * 


154  BJEB  HUS»A«D'§  rtamam. 

that  polite  fiction  which  has  become  almost  a  fieces* 
sity  to  very  busy  or  very  retiring  people.  The 
servant  took  Mr.  Clarkson's  card  and  carried  it  with 
his  statement  to  her  mistress.  There  was  a  moment 
of  indecision,  and  then  Miss  Casson  directed  that  the 
gentleman  should  be  shown  into  the  drawing-room. 
She  had  thought  it  over  very  rapidly.  He  might  be 
there  on  some  errand  that  would  prove  disagree- 
ble  ;  he  might,  on  the  contrary,  have  something  of 
importance  to  communicate.  In  either  case,  the 
wisest  way  was  to  see  him,  for  if  the  former  supposi- 
tion proved  correct,  it  would  be  easy  to  make  this 
visit  a  final  one. 

So  Miss  Casson  laid  down  the  pen  she  was  using, 
and  went  into  the  drawing-room  to  meet  her  visitor, 
who  rose  at  her  entrance,  and  bowed  profoundly. 

"I  trust  you  will  not  think  me  impolite,"  she  said, 
before  he  could  speak,  **  if  I  tell  you  at  the  outset 
that  I  can  only  spare  you  a  very  few  minutes.  I  am 
reading  the  proofs  of  my  magazine,  which  appears 
this  week.  However,  if  your  business  is  really  of 
importance,  I  must  defer  my  other  work  until  I  have 
listened  to  it.** 

She  took  a  chair,  motioning  him  to  resume  the 
one  he  had  vacated,  and  assumed  an  attitude  of 
attention  which  disconcerted  him  not  a  little.  He 
did  noc  fancy  seeing  things  put  on  such  a  purely 
commercial  basis. 

"  I  came  here,  Miss  Casson,"  he  began,  struggling 
to  hide  his  confusion,"  to  say  something  to  you  that 
J  believe  is  for  your  interest.  I  may  be  mistaken, 
b-it  I  think  it  is  worth  your  while  to  hear  me." 

She  had  not  the  least  idea  what  was  coming,  bat 
She  bowed,  and  uttered  the  brief  answer— 

'  Procatd." 


WHAT  THE  trr  DISOOVMM*  156 

*  It  is  in  relation  to  Mr.  Dan-ell,"  he  Mid,  think. 

Ing  it  wisest  to  fix  her  attention  at  once. 

She  changed  color  in  spite  of  herself. 

M  I  do  not   know,"  she  responded,  slowly,  "  how 
there  can   be  anything  in  reference  to  that  gentle 
man   about  which    you  could  feel    it  necessary  to 
speak  to  me." 

He  regarded  her  attentively  as  he  replied  : 

"  I|  have  come  here  because  I  think  you  do  not 
know — I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  think  so,"  he 
replied  with  deliberation.  "In  one  sense,  it  is  true, 
tt  is  no  affair  of  mine.  In  another,  considering  the 
regard  I  have  for  you — " 

But  she  broke  in  upon  him. 

"To  the  point,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Clarkson.  If 
there  is  anything  that  you  think  necessary  to  tell 
me,  I  pray  you  to  do  so  without  delay.  For  I 
assure  you  again  that  my  time  to-day  is  precious." 

"Well,  in  short,"  replied  Clarkson,  becoming 
exasperated,  "  I  have  discovered  that  Mr.  Darrell  is 
a  married  man.  Yes,"  he  continued,  mistaking  the 
expression  of  her  countenance  as  she  received  the 
information,  "  he  has  a  wife  and  children  living  in 
the  village  of  Auburn,  in  the  western  part  of  this 
State." 

He  paused  to  mark  the  effect  of  this  bomb-shell, 
and  was  disappointed.  Miss  Casson  had  quickly 
recovered  her  equanimity  and  was  regarding  him 
with  an  icy  stare. 

"  Well,  proceed,"  she  said,  again. 

"  Proceed  !"  he  echoed.  "  Why,  what  more  is 
there  that  needs  to  be  said  ?" 

u  Then  am  I  to  understand  that  this  is  all  ?" 

44  Is  it  not  enough  ?"  he  cried. 

"  Wfeat  interest  do  you  imagine  this  matter  has  to 


156  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEKR 

me  ?"  she  asked,  enunciating  each  word  with  perfect 
distinctness. 

It  was  now  his  turn  to  stare. 

"  You — you  are  through  with  him,  then  ?"  he 
stammered. 

"  Explain  yourself  !"  she  demanded,  sharply.  "  It 
strikes  me  that  your  last  expression  demands  it.** 

The  coldness  of  her  manner  accentuated  his 
uneasiness. 

"Why,"  he  ejaculated,  "I  thought — everybody 
thinks — that  Darrell  and  you  were  more  than 
ordinary  friends.  I  don't  mean  anything  unpleasant, 
you  know,  but  I  supposed  that  there  was  an  under- 
standing— an  engagement — or  something  of  that 
kind.  There  have  been  rumors  lately  that  he  was 
married,  but  very  few  of  your  acquaintances  believed 
them.  They  all  said  you  would  not  treat  him  as 
you  do — if — if  he  were,  you  know.  And  when  1 
happened  to  find  out  for  certain,  why,  I  thought  it 
my  duty  to  tell  you,  as  I  couldn't  help  believing 
that  you  were  being  deceived." 

She  drew  up  her  shoulders,  and  surveyed  him 
with  an  expression  of  contempt. 

"  I  fear  you  take  me  for  some  other  woman,*1  she 
said.  *'  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  My  name  is 
Laura  Casson  !" 

He  felt  like  a  pigmy  standing  before  the  face  of 
the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  as  she  thus  launched  hef 
personality  at  him. 

"  Did  you  think  that  Laura  Casson  chose  hei 
friends  before  finding  out  what  they  were  ?  Did 
you  imagine  that  you  could  come  here  and  tell  me 
anything  new  about  a  man  whom  I  have  known  for 
years  and  years?  I  kne\v  Edmund  Darrell  before 
ae  was  married  and  I  have  known  him  ever  sxoce.  * 


WHAT  THE  8FT   DISOOVEBED.  16Y 

could  tell  you  the  very  birthdays  of  his  children. 
Alice,  the  fifth  of  May ;  Ethel,  the  sixteenth  of 
August.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  put  the  idea 
into  your  head  that  you  had  made  a  great  dis- 
covery !'* 

Then,  recollecting  that  it  was  not  advisable  to 
anger  him  too  much,  she  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you,"  she  said,  more 
affably,  "for  I  am  sure  you  meant  well.  You  could 
not  possibly  have  a  wrong  motive  in  going  to  all 
this  trouble.  When  were  you  in  Auburn  ?" 

**  I  left  there  this  morning,"  he  replied,  sulkily. 
He  liked  being  laughed  at  even  less  than  the 
manner  which  had  preceded  it. 

*'  Indeed  !"  she  cried.  "  And  how  did  you  leave 
our  friend  Mordaunt  ?" 

**  Your  friend,  perhaps  ;  not  mine,"  he  retorted. 
41  And  his  name  is  Allen,  if  you  please." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing,"  she  replied,  lightly. 
*  Have  you  two  fallen  out  ?  I  thought  you  were 
»rery  friendly." 

As  Clarkson  could  not  very  well  explain  the  cause 
of  his  difference  with  Mordaunt,  he  thought  it  best 
to  turn  the  course  of  the  conversation. 

"Darrell  must  be  very  good-natured  to  send  a 
man  like  that  over  from  Europe  to  entertain  his 
wife,"  he  sneered.  "  He  has  been  there  all  summer 
for  nothing  else,  going  down  to  her  house  after 
Sunset,  and  staying  till  midnight  or  longer."  He 
did  not  care  much  for  absolute  truth  when  he  had  a 
ttory  to  tell  about  an  enemy.  "  If  the  husband 
Stays  abroad  much  longer,  there  will  be  no  need  of 
his  coming  home  at  all." 

Laura  Casson  had  at  last  heard  something  that 
the  wanted  to  know.  S ,. •-  saw  that  Clarkson  was  j 


108  KM  HTTSBAKD'S  FRIEND, 

cleverer  observer  than  she  had  given  him  credit  for 
being.  He  had  learned,  in  some  way,  that  Mordaunt 
was  Darnell's  friend.  She  wondered  how  much  more 
he  had  learned,  and  adroitly  adopted  the  plan  of 
professing  disbelief  as  the  best  method  of  persuad- 
ing him  to  tell  everything  he  knew. 

"  Mr.  Darrell  probably  thinks  that  he  knows  botl 
his  wife  and  his  friend,"  she  said,  pleasantly. 

Clarkson  shook  his  head  with  a  grimace. 

"Why  should  Allen  go  there  only  after  dark  if 
everything  is  as  it  should  be  ?" 

"  I  should  say  to  avoid  the  tittle-tattle  of  Auls*rn 
gossips." 

"And  why  do  they  ride  out  in  secluded  country 
roads  in  the  afternoon,  taking  different  ways  to  go 
and  return,  but  meeting  where  they  can  be  together 
for  hours  ?" 

Laura  Casson  was  startled  from  her  perfect 
equanimity  by  this  statement. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  that  is  true  ?"  she 
said,  quickly. 

"  Ah,  but  I  do.     I  have  followed  them  !" 

"  More  than  once  ?" 

"Yes,  several  times." 

She  was  silent  for  some  seconds.  His  exultation 
at  being  able  to  reveal  something  that  she  had  not 
previously  known  was  plainly  visible.  A  great 
tumult  was  going  on  in  her  mind. 

"  Let  me  understand  you  plainly,  Mr.  Clarkson," 
she  said,  presently,  "for  this  is  a  serious  business. 
Do  you  say  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  and  Mrs.  Darrell  are 
in  the  habit  of  meeting  in  out-of-the-way  places,  bjr 
apparent  Appointment?" 

"  I  do  !"  he  replied,  boldly. 
Entirely  alon«?" 


WHAT  THB  8FT  DISOOVEKKD,  169 

His  face  fell  a  little  at  the  question. 

*  Oh,  she  has  the  children  with  her,  of  courte. 
But  what  of  that  ?  They  are  too  young  to  under- 
stand what  is  said." 

She  had  all  she  could  do  to  conceal  her  disap- 
pointment at  the  answer. 

"  The  children !  That  puts  quite  a  different 
aspect  on  the  case.  Now,"  she  leaned  towards  him 
and  smiled  approvingly,  "just  what  have  you  seen? 
Don't  be  afraid.  I  want  to  know." 

He  was  so  pleased  at  being  asked  for  his  confi- 
dence that  he  never  saw  the  trap  into  which  he 
vras  falling.  But  it  was  not  easy  to  look  her  in  the 
eye  and  invent  falsehoods. 

"Why,  there  was  nothing  very  terrible — aside 
from  the  fact  of  the  meetings  themselves.  That  did 
not  look  like  mere  friendship  for  the  absent  husband, 
you  know.  They  just  met  in  the  road  and  rested 
their  horses." 

"  Did  you  hear  their  conversation  ?" 

"  No,  I  could  not  get  near  enough  for  that." 

"  The  children  stayed  with  their  mother  ?" 

"  They  usually  got  out  to  pick  flowers  in  the  field 
near  by." 

"  But  they  were  always  in  sight  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"And  their  mother  talked  with  Mr.  Mordaunt,  she 
in  her  carriage,  and  he  in  his  ?" 

Clarkson  assented. 

"And  that  was  all  ?" 

"Yes." 

Laura  Casson  leaned  forward,  and  laid  one  of  her 
bands  on  Clarkson's.  As  he,  in  his  great  surprise, 
looked  up,  he  saw  that  her  dark  eyes  darted  flames. 

"You  are  a  bad  witness,"  she  said,  insinuatingly. 


160  BEB  HUSBANDS  FMEJTD. 

"I  am  afraid   something  is  the  matter  with 

vision." 

He  stared  at  her  blankly. 

"Is  it  reasonable,"  she  vent  on  rapidly,  "that  a 
arife  would  drive,  day  after  day,  to  meet  a  gentle- 
man merely  to  talk  to  him — a  wife,  let  us  say, 
whose  husband  is  absent  in  Europe,  and  who 
has  never  seen  him  six  times  a  year  since  her  mar- 
riage? Would  she  not  have  offered  her  cheek,  if  not 
her  lips,  and  would  not  her  companion  have  accepted 
the  challenge  ?  How  can  one  conceive  of  a  man  like 
that  spending  a  whole  summer  in  the  ridiculous  way 
you  suggest  ?  Mr.  Clarkson,  you  do  not  like  to  tell 
me  the  whole  story." 

He  protested  that  she  was  in  error,  adding  that 
he  only  regretted  that  it  was  not  so,  as  he  had 
reason  to  wish  no  good  to  Allen. 

"  No,  you  are  wrong ;  you  are  forgetful,"  she 
replied,  still  with  the  basilisk  eyes  fixed  on  him.  "  You 
must  try  and  think  if  you  cannot  recollect  better. 
I  adviste  you  to  visit  some  town  near  Auburn,  where 
Mordaunt,  or  Allen,  or  whatever  name  he  goes  by, 
will  not  suspect  your  proximity,  and  there  watch 
again.  And  the  next  time  you  must  write  down 
your  observations — taking  care  that  you  miss  noth- 
ing. Your  memory  is  treacherous." 

He  could  not  fail  to  understand  her.  She  had 
almost  told  him  in  so  many  words  that  he  must 
perjure  himself  at  her  call.  It  did  not  startle  him  as 
much  as  he  could  have  expected,  but  it  did  arouse  an 
idea  that  had  lain  dormant  for  some  minutes. 
If  Miss  Casson  asked  such  a  favor  as  this  of  him,  he 
might  make  it  the  basis  of  a  claim  in  return. 

"  I  cannot  conceive  of  any  request  of  yours  that  I 
should  refuse/'  he  said,  meaningly.  "I  would  ask 


WHAT  THB   SP1    L.I800TEEED.  161 

nothing1  better  than  to  be  your  slave  for  life.  You 
cannot  be  oblivious  to  the  feelings  with  which  you 
have  long  inspired  me." 

Her  brain  was  on  fire.  She  hardly  seemed  to  heai 
him. 

"  If  you  waste  no  time,"  she  said,  "  you  will  get 
the  evening  train  without  difficulty  to — let  me  see — 
to  Brixton.  That  is  only  five  miles  from  Auburn, 
and  a  good  point  from  which  to  make  observations." 
She  rose  from  her  chair,  as  if  to  hasten  his  depart- 
ure. "Would  you  like  to  write  to  me?"  she 
added. 

"Above  all  things." 

**  You  may  do  so." 

"And  when  may  I  see  you  ?" 

"When  your  eyesight  has  sufficiently  improved! 
When  ycu  have  something  worth  coming  to  tell !" 

He  looked  at  her  with  hungry  eyes. 

**  And  my  reward  ?"  he  faltered. 

She  started  slightly. 

"  It  is  no  time  to  talk  of  rewards !  If  you 
discover  anything  that  leads  to  a  reasonable  sus- 
picion, your  duty  will  be  plain.  You  have  no  time 
to  lose,  Go  T 


162  HER  BUBBAHD'S  FBISHD 


CHAPTER  XL 

"YOU    HAVE   CHILD RIK,    AISO.** 

He  caught  her  hand  quickly,  and  kissed  it  Then, 
with  a  hasty  good-bye,  he  left  the  house. 

The  minute  that  he  was  out  of  sight,  Miss  Casson'i 
manner  changed.  She  held  from  her  the  hand  his 
lips  had  touched  as  if  it  were  an  unclean  thing. 
Her  eyelids  drooped,  and  her  rigid  frame  relaxed. 
The  strength  she  had  suddenly  summoned  seemed  to 
leave  her.  Rising  wearily,  she  tottered  to  her 
chamber,  where  she  washed  away  the  physical 
taint  of  contact  with  this  man  whom  she  loathed, 
But  even  as  the  soap  and  water  covered  the  place,  it 
came  vividly  across  her  mind  how  impossible  it 
would  be  to  wash  the  dark  spots  from  her  mind  and 
conscience.  For  Laura  Casson  had  a  conscience, 
one  that  burned  and  pricked  her  mercilessly  when- 
ever she  violated  its  injunctions,  and  at  this  moment 
it  rang  a  clamor  in  her  ears  which  seemed  as  if  it 
would  deafen  her  forever. 

When  the  hand  was  to  all  outward  appearance 
clean  again,  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
dropping  into  an  easy  chair,  tried  to  think.  Why 
had  she  sent  Clarkson  on  that  wicked  mission  ? 
Why  had  she  stooped  to  make  use  of  such  a  tool, 
when  the  result  must  inevitably  be  to  place  her 
under  obligations,  entailing  no  end  of  annoyance  ? 
She  heartily  wished,  as  she  sat  there,  that  she  had 
not  been  so  indiscreet.  There  had  not  been  time 
tmough  to  consider  The  opportunity  had  come  so 


*TOP   HATB   CHILDREN,    ALSO."  108 

iuddenly  that  she  could  not  resist  the  temptation. 
She  could  write  to  him,  or  telegraph  him,  even  now, 
at  Brixton,  bidding  him  do  nothing  about  it,  but — 
what  then  ? 

If  Darrell  could  only  be  persuaded  to  seek  a  sep- 
aration from  his  wife  by  some  means  involving  less 
danger ! 

She  turned  to  her  mantel,  on  which  was  his  photo- 
graph, and  taking  up  the  portrait  she  pressed  it  to 
her  lips. 

"  Oh,  Edmund,  my  love  !"  she  cried  in  spirit, 
"  why  have  the  fates  divided  us  so  cruelly  !  Bound 
by  your  own  rash  folly  to  a  woman  who  is  not  your 
equal,  held  in  chains  by  a  fancy  that  your  duty  lies 
in  that  direction,  is  there  no  help  for  you,  is  there 
no  help  for  me  ?  Must  I  descend  to  the  littlenesses 
of  ordinary  women  in  the  mad  hope  to  gain  you  ? 
How  much  longer  can  I  live  in  this  Inferno, 
beseeching  vainly  for  the  drop  of  water  that  should 
cool  my  tongue  ?" 

She  was  aroused  from  this  revery  by  the  maid, 
who  came  to  say  that  the  printer's  boy  wished  to 
know  if  the  proofs  were  ready.  Perhaps  it  was  well 
that  the  necessity  of  labor  compelled  her  to  forget 
for  the  moment  her  troubles.  She  plunged  at  once 
into  her  work,  and  was  soon  making  alterations  and 
corrections  with  as  firm  a  hand  as  ever.  It  was  a 
brilliant  number  of  the  magazine  that  she  issued  that 
month.  Everybody  said  that  Miss  Casson  had  a 
right  to  be  proud  of  it. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night,  when  the  last  of  the 
proofs  were  finished,  and  after  she  had  eaten  an 
apology  for  a  dinner — her  appetite  not  being 
Improved  by  the  events  of  the  afternoon — she  went 
again  into  her  drawing  room  and  sat  there  alone 


I (54  BSR   HUSBAND'S   FRIBHlX 

with  her  head  buried  in  her  hands.  Never  had  she 
felt  io  lonely  ;  never  had  life  seemed  so  little  worth 
the  living.  But  when  her  spirits  were  at  their 
lowest  ebb  she  was  roused  by  two  quick  strokes  at 
the  street  gong. 

The  skilled  telegraphist  knows  the  touch  of  a 
brother  operator,  and  can  detect  it  years  after  in  an 
unexpected  part  of  the  country.  Laura  Casson 
knew  that  only  one  man  could  have  rung  that  belt 
Though  she  had  supposed  him  four  thousand  miles 
away,  there  was  no  doubt  that  Edmund  Darrell  was 
at  her  door. 

The  color  that  had  deserted  her  face  rushed  back 
over  it.  Her  lustreless  eyes  brightened,  her  white 
lips  grew  red,  her  thin  nostrils  dilated.  She  sprang 
up  ^nd  took  several  steps  toward  the  door,  and  then, 
recollecting  something  with  a  suddenness  that  was 
very  like  a  shock,  paused,  set  her  teeth  together,  and 
walked  slowly  back  to  her  chair.  Hardly  was  she 
again  seated  when  the  cause  of  her  emotion  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  room,  and  with  rapid  strides 
stood  before  her. 

"Laura!" 

All  his  joy  at  being  with  her  again  after  six 
months  of  absence — all  the  realization  of  his  hopes 
long  deferred — were  in  that  one  word. 

She  held  out  her  hand — not  the  one  that  Clarkson 
had  kissed — and  coolly  asked  him  to  be  seated. 
His  astonishment  at  her  manner  was  plainly  evident. 
He  hesitated  several  seconds  in  sheer  amazement, 
staring  at  her  in  the  vain  expectation  of  learning  the 
reason  for  his  strange  reception.  But  pride  came  to 
his  rescue,,  and  he  somewhat  haughtily  took  the 
chair  she  indicated. 

Hl  did  not  expect  you  so  soon,"  *ht  said,  prt* 


JIAYB  OHILDMUT,   ALSO.*  lil 

faring  not  to  let  him  guide  the  conversation.       How 

did  it  happen  ?" 

He  could  not  understand  her  coldness,  but  he 
would  have  died  rather  than  have  told  how  much  it 
affected  him. 

"  I  found  that  I  could  catch  a  faster  steamer  at 
Southampton,"  he  replied,  "and  so  I  did  not  go  to 
Liverpool.  It  made  a  difference  of  three  days,  and 
I  wanted  to  get  home  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  it  must  seem  a  long  time,  six  months,"  sho 
Said.  And  he  responded  that  it  did  ;  and  thus  they 
went  on,  for  the  next  half  hour,  talking  of  little 
things,  each  well  aware  that  there  was  no  heart  in 
either  questions  or  answers.  He  told  her  that  he 
had  filed  his  applications  for  patents  in  all  the 
countries  in  Europe,  and  that  the  business  promised 
well.  He  had,  in  fact,  received  one  very  handsome 
offer  for  rights,  to  take  effect  as  soon  as  the  patents 
were  allowed.  He  talked  of  Paris  and  Berlin  and 
London  and  Vienna.  And  as  he  went  on  with  his 
details,  he  knew  that  she  cared  nothing  about  it  all. 

At  last  he  decided  that  he  might  as  well  know 
now  as  later  what  had  so  altered  her  manner 
towards  him,  and  at  a  pause  in  the  conversation  be 
«sked,  abruptly — 

"Well,  Laura,  what  is  it r 

She  glanced  up. 

" What  is  what?1* 

*  The  cause  of  my  peculiar  reception.  1  want  to 
know.  I  have  a  right  to  know.  Tell  me." 

"  Your  reception  is  as  cordial  as  I  have  given  to 
any  gentleman  since  you  left.  I — " 

"Wait!"  he  interrupted.  "I  am  not  asking  for 
much,  considering  all  that  has  passed  between  us." 

Sb«  brofca  in  upon  him  thea 


166  HEK  HUSBAND'S  FSOTD. 

"  '  Considering  all  that  has  passed  T  What  has 
ever  passed  between  us  to  give  you  the  right  to 
count  yourself  on  a  different  footing  here  from  other 
men  ?" 

He  was  incredulous  of  his  own  powers  of  hearing 
AS  he  digested  her  words. 

"I  have  come  here  as  your  friend  for  more  than 
eight  years,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  You  have  never 
treated  me  as  you  have  to-night,  and  you  know  it 
well.  You  have  written  me  letters  within  the  last 
three  weeks,  and  none  of  them  in  the  vein  you  now 
jidopt.  I  am  not  complaining.  I  am  not  saying 
that  you  are  wrong  now,  or  that  you  were  right 
then.  But  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  ask  the  cause  of 
the  change." 

His  calmness,  which  she  could  not  help  feeling 
«vas  greater  than  her  own,  was  unanticipated,  and 
the  programme  which  she  had  laid  out  was  not  easy 
to  continue. 

"  If  there  has  ever  been  between  you  and  me  a 
cordiality  greater  than  that  which  has  existed 
between  myself  and  others,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  not 
perfectly  firm,  "  there  are  reasons  why  it  should  end. 
Hereafter  it  is  better,  it  is  wiser,  for  us  to  assume 
towards  each  other  only  the  ordinary  friendliness  of 
business  partners.  Do  you  not  think  so,  yourself  ?" 

She  hoped  he  would  answer  that  he  did  not,  but 
he  merely  acquiesced. 

"  That  point  is  for  you  to  decide,"  he  replied, 
"and  yet  I  feel  none  the  less  justified  in  asking  you 
what  has  led  you  to  this  decision." 

She  was  silent  for  a  full  minute,  although  she 
twice  made  an  attempt  to  speak.  Then  she  said,  in 
s  firm  voice — 

"  You  have  a  wife." 


"YOB   HAVE  CHILDREN,   AL8O."  107 

*  Very  true,  "  he  replied,  and  a  shadow  crossed 
his  face.  "  But  that  you  knew  before." 

Laura  Casson  had  calculated  neither  the  strength 
of  this  man  nor  her  own  weakness.  As  she  uttered 
the  next  sentence,  she  raised  an  agonized  face  to  his. 

"You  have — children — also." 

He  understood  it  in  a  moment.  She  had  learned 
this  in  his  absence. 

41  You  have  deceived  me!"  she  went  on,  passion- 
ately, throwing  down  all  reserve.  "  I  remember 
well  all  that  you  said  that  day  you  came  to  me— - 
after — after  Professor  Marlin  died.  You  were  mar- 
ried  then.  That  neither  of  us  could  help.  You 
believed  it  your  duty  to  support  the  girl  you  had 
wedded  in  your  folly.  That  I  did  not  object  to* 
though  I  thought  it  then  better,  both  for  her  and 
you,  that  you  seek  an  early  separation.  On  that  dajf 
we  made  an  agreement — you  and  I.  I  was  never  to 
think  of  marriage,  and  you  were  to  be  a  husband  in 
name  only.  Ah !  how  well  I  remember !  Th^ 
stipulations  were  every  one  your  own.  You  said 
you  loved  me  ;  that  you  had  never  for  one  moment 
ceased  to  love  me  ;  and  I  said  that  I  would  take  you 
at  your  word.  I  told  you  that  I  would  accept  no 
attentions  from  any  man,  but  would  wait — though  it 
might  be  until  my  hair  was  white,  or  until  the  grave 
closed  over  me — for  you.  I  have  kept  my  word, 
Edmund  Darrell.  I  thought  I  was  dealing  with  a 
man  who  was  above  his  fellows.  I  have  loved  you 
as  no  inferior  woman  could,  without  doing  in  all 
that  time  a  single  act  that  could  lower  me  either  in 
your  estimation  or  my  own.  But^«," — she  paused, 
her  lips  trembling — "you — " 

It  was  impossible  to  complete  the  sentence,  and,  an 
she  gave  up  trying,  her  frame  shook  with  sobs 


168  HER  HUSBAHD'S  FROTH* 

Darrell  waited  until  she  grew  calmer,  and  than  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  Laura,  there  has  evidently  been  a  misunder- 
standing between  us.  And  this  is  not  so  strange 
when  we  consider  how  this  agreement — as  you  call 
it — was  brought  about.  I  came  to  you,  at  the  time 
you  refer  to,  I  admit,  in  a  state  of  excitement.  I 
had  committed  the  greatest  error  of  which  a  man 
can  be  guilty,  and  the  fact  that  I  found  you  still  free 
added  enormously  to  the  effect  of  my  action.  I 
knew  that  I  had  married  one  woman  when  every 
throb  of  my  heart  was  for  another.  You  told  me 
then  that  your  love  for  me  was  as  strong  as  mine 
for  you.  There  were  three  of  us  to  be  punished  for 
the  sins  I  alone  had  committed.  If  I  could  have 
borne  all  the  pain,  most  gladly  would  I  have  done 
it.  But  that  could  not  be.  The  girl  I  had  married 
had  a  heart  that  might  also  be  broken.  Yes,  Laura, 
and  it  is  not  becoming  in  you  to  sneer  at  that  state- 
ment. Uneducated  country  girl  that  she  was  and 
is,  she,  too,  loved  me.  The  children  have  reconciled 
her  to  my  almost  perpetual  absence.  They  have 
smoothed  the  way  for  her,  for  me,  and — let  me  say 
it — for  you.  Do  you  not  see  how  ?  She  had  th« 
children,  and  you  had  me.  I  have  hardly  been  a 
month  at  my  home,  counting  the  minutes  and  add- 
ing them  together,  in  all  the  years  since  my  mar- 
riage. Every  hour  that  I  could  spare  from  business 
has  been  yours.  How  could  I,  in  common  decency, 
have  done  more  ?" 

She  held  her  throbbing  temples  with  her  hot 
hands,  and  when  she  spoke  the  bitterness  was  gone 
from  the  pleading  tones. 

"Oh,  you  cannot  understand  1"  she  said,  in  a 
choking  voice.  "  How  could  you,  being  a  man. 


aYOU    HAVE   CHILDREN,    AL8O."  169 

know  what  a  woman  like  me  can  suffer  !  In  all 
these  years,  while  I  have  kept  this  ivory  exterior,  the 
rack  of  pain  has  torn  me  day  by  day.  You  have 
been  here,  it  is  true.  I  have  heard  your  voice, 
have  clasped  your  hand,  have  looked  into  your  eyes. 
But  how  could  I  forget,  even  for  one  instant,  that 
you  were  not  mine !  You  went  to  Auburn — I  knew 
that — and  it  almost  killed  me  to  know  it.  But  I  did 
not  know,  I  did  not  suspect,  I  did  not  dream,  that  you 
lavished  on  her  the  caresses  that  were  denied  to  me  !' 

"  You  expressly  told  me — "  he  interrupted. 

"  That  I  did  not  want  them  ?  Yes,  and  it  was 
true.  I  did  not  wish  your  kisses,  Edmund,  but  I 
did  not  wish  them  given  to  another.  I  would  not 
have  accepted  them — never  at  any  moment  since 
you  told  me  of  your  marriage.  A  caress  from  you 
would  be  only  a  mockery  while  the  law  held  you  in 
another  bond." 

"And  so  my  children — poor  little  things! — must 
come  between  you  and  me,"  he  said,  gently,  for  he 
could  not  help  seeing  how  she  suffered.  "  They  are 
to  separate  us — is  that  it,  Laura?" 

"  Not  as  far  as  the  Cause  is  concerned,"  she 
replied,  striving  to  master  her  emotions.  "  But  I 
never  can  feel,  as  I  have  felt,  that  you  were  as  much 
mine  as  hers.  I  must  stifle  this  terrible  love  that 
has  shown  its  power  to  give  me  such  vital  pain, 
We  will  work  together  still,  but  that  is  all." 

He  shook  his  head  with  decision. 

*  I  could  not  do  that,"  he  said.  "  I  already  feel 
most  uncomfortable  here.  I  never  could  forget 
what  has  been.  No,"  he  added,  reflectively,  "  we 
must  give  it  all  up.  We  must  never  see  each  other. 
There  is  no  middle  course.  ' 

She  wondered  if  h«  meant  it — if  he  reallv  coulH 


170  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FBIEBTB. 

give  up  seeing  her — and  she  knew  that  if  he  did  it 
would  be  her  death  blow.  The  fury  of  her  passion 
had  passed,  and  she  felt  it  time  to  temporize. 

"Edmund,"  she  said,  tenderly,  "could  you  give 
up  all  our  relations  as  easily  as  that  ?  Is  there  no 
deeper  sentiment  in  your  breast,  after  the  professions 
of  these  long  years  ?" 

"  But  what  can  I  do,"  he  asked,  helplessly,  "  if  you 
cannot  forgive  my  poor  babies  for  coming  into  the 
world  ?  The  younger  of  the  two  is  nearly  four  years 
old.  And  my  wife,  who  has  seen  me  only  five  or 
six  times  in  the  last  two  years,  how  can  I  treat  her 
any  worse  than  I  have  ?  She  has  never  uttered  a 
word  of  complaint,  never  a  hint  of  discontent,  and 
yet  I  presume  she  has  feelings  like  other  people.  As 
long  as  she  is  true  to  me,  I  must  recognize  the  law's 
relation." 

Miss  Casson  caught  her  breath. 

"  And  you  do  not  question — of  course  you  do  not 
~-that  she  is  true  ?" 

He  smiled  with  the  confidence  of  one  who  could 
afford  to  laugh  at  a  suggestion  like  that. 

"  It  is  beyond  all  doubt,"  he  replied.  "  She  is 
innocence  itself." 

"  And  if  you  should  find  yourself  mistaken  ?" 

He  looked  up  sharply. 

"  If  she  were  criminal  ?  Why,  in  that  case,  there 
is  only  one  course  open  to  a  man  of  honor." 

He  had  said  all  she  wished  him  to  say,  and  she 
managed  to  turn  the  talk  towards  the  topic  of 
Socialism,  where  they  could  meet  on  common 
ground.  It  was  late  when  he  left,  and  she  succeeded 
in  exacting  a  promise  from  him  to  call  again  soon, 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  an  article  that  had 
been  submitted  for  the  next  magazine.  It  was  with 


THE  BAILWAY  STATIC*.          171 

great  joy  that  she  heard  his  acceptance  of  the  prop- 
osition. Now  that  she  had  spent  the  force  of  her 
storm,  she  could  not  bear  to  think  of  its  possible 
effects. 

Darrell  came  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  so 
two  weeks  went  by.  He  found  time  to  attend  to  his 
business,  and  to  go  to  Miss  Casson's  receptions,  and 
to  see  her  in  private  ;  but  he  did  not  find  time  to 
visit  his  wife  and  children. 

And  all  the  while  a  mysterious  man,  who  boarded 
with  a  farmer  in  Brixton,  continued  to  haunt  the 
wood  and  roads  of  Auburn  and  the  taeighborhood 
of  the  Darrell  house. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HAUNTING    THE   RAILWAY   STATION. 

Mehitable  Burton  had  had  her  way.  Her  brother 
Ephraim,  pliant  tool  that  he  was  in  her  hands,  had 
signed  the  new  will ;  Anna  Darrell's  name  was  not 
mentioned  in  it.  A  lot  of  foreign  missionary  socie- 
ties, Seaman's  Bethels  and  Orphan  Asylums  were  to 
get  the  dollars  that  he  had  contrived  to  make  and 
she  to  save,  after  their  dust  had  been  gathered  to 
that  of  their  fathers. 

Though  both  the  Burtons  were  attendants  at 
Divine  worship,  neither  of  them  had  any  conception 
whatever  of  real  religion.  They  went  to  church,  just 
as  they  paid  their  taxes,  because  it  was  considered 
a  necessary  and  proper  thing  to  do  in  the  commu- 
nity in  which  they  lived.  They  probably  had  a  dim 


178  HER  HUSBAND'S 

idea  that  pew  rent  receipts,  filed  away  for  aearty 
half  a  century,  would  constitute  a  sort  of  preferred 
claim  on  everlasting  salvation  ;  a  kind  of  insurance 
against  fire  in  the  next  life,  as  a  policy  in  the  Mtna. 
or  the  State  company  was  in  this. 

Miss  Burton  had  picked  out  the  societies  that  were 
to  benefit  by  her  brother's  decease  from  a  miscella- 
neous assortment  which  Lawyer  Jacobs  procured  at 
her  request.  None  of  them  were  to  touch  the  money 
during  her  lifetime,  should  she  survive  Ephraim.  It 
was  easier  to  select  her  beneficiaries  than  one  might 
think,  for  the  main  point  was  not  so  much  to  decide 
who  should  have  the  money  as  to  make  sure  that  the 
Darrells  never  got  any  of  it.  Her  bitterness  against 
her  niece  had  been  much  increased  by  her  persistent 
determination  to  await  the  return  of  her  husband 
And  to  hear  his  side  of  the  story  before  taking  for 
granted  all  that  her  aunt  told  her. 

"As  long  as  we  had  only  suspicions,"  the  old  lady 
had  said  darkly,  "  I  could  forgive  your  foolish  infat- 
uation with  a  man  who  has  been  away  from  you 
almost  every  hour  since  you  married  him.  I  have 
brought  you  proofs  that  should  satisfy  any  reason- 
able woman.  If  they  are  not  sufficient  for  you,  you 
need  only  to  make  a  visit  to  Boston  and  find  out  for 
yourself." 

M  He  is  my  children's  father,"  Anna  had  answered, 
tearfully,  "  I  must  wait  until  he  comes  before  I  can 
decide." 

**  Yes,  and  let  him  smooth  everything  over  with 
his  soft  tongue  !  "  was  the  waspish  reply. 

"Edmund  will  not  lie  to  me.  If  he  has  done 
wrong  he  will  admit  it  when  I  ask  him  the  direct 
question." 

*  Bah !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Burton,  unable  to 


THE  RAILWAY  STATIOH.  ITS 

trol  herself  longer.  "  If  that  is  your  final  decision, 
you  and  I  are  done  forever.  All  that  Ephraim  has 
made  was  left  to  you  years  ago  by  his  will,  but  I  will 
have  it  altered  this  very  day.  Our  money  shall 
never  go  to  the  wife  or  children  of  a  man  like  that, 
while  they  cling  to  him  with  such  obstinacy.  Do 
you  hear  ?  You  will  never  get  a  penny  from  us !" 

So  the  new  will  was  made,  and  all  Auburn  knew 
it  before  twenty-four  hours,  as  they  knew  almost 
everything  else  that  should  have  been  kept  secret. 

Anna  thought  little  and  cared  little  about  it.  She 
had  never  been  in  want  of  money  enough  for  her 
moderate  needs,  and  Aunt  Burton's  threat  had  for 
her  very  little  significance.  What  she  did  think  of — 
night  and  day — was  her  husband,  for  whom  she  had 
developed  a  more  absorbing  passion  than  ever,  since 
these  charges  were  brought  against  him.  She 
could  not  deny  that  his  conduct  had  been  most 
peculiar ;  that  he  absented  himself  for  very  long 
periods,  and  wrote  seldom  and  briefly.  But  she  had 
always  accepted  his  explanations  that  business 
affairs  were  pressing,  and  that  his  time  was  taken  up 
with  things  of  moment  which  he  could  not  well  neg- 
lect. There  had  been  times  when  she  had  doubted 
whether  he  loved  her  as  much  as  a  man  should  love 
his  wife,  but  it  was  incredible  that  another  woman 
had  been  given  the  affection  that  she  had  been 
denied.  Still,  the  circumstantial  story  that  her  aunt 
had  brought,  determined  her  to  learn  the  truth,  at 
whatever  cost.  If  Edmund  had  been  guilty,  she 
would  leave  him  ;  but  first  this  must  be  proved 
beyond  peradventure.  either  by  his  own  confession  or 
other  positive  evidence. 

At  this  period  she  had  only  two  sources  of  con- 
solation. One  was  her  child  tea  ;  the  other  was  Harold 


174  HBB  HUSBAND'S 

Mordaunt,  The  little  girls  were  growing  prettier  and 
more  intelligent  every  day.  She  felt  the  greatest 
pride  in  them,  though  it  was  now  mingled  with  a 
sort  of  terror  as  she  thought  of  a  possible  future 
when  she  should  have  to  tell  them  that  their  father  had 
been  a  wicked  man,  from  whom  she  had  to  flee.  Ethel 
looked  remarkably  like  him,  and  Alice,  though  she 
had  her  mother's  dark  eyes  and  hair,  bore  an  un- 
mistakeable  resemblance  to  the  Darrells.  The  elder 
child,  with  a  perception  far  beyond  her  years,  was 
quick  to  notice  the  melancholy  that  had  come  over 
her  mother,  and  to  extend  her  sympathies. 

"  Why  is  it  that  you  never  smile  any  more,  mam- 
ma ?"  she  said.  "  Is  it  because  papa  does  not  come  ?' 

"  Hush,  child,  hush  !"  answered  the  mother,  fright- 
ened that  such  a  thought  should  find  lodgment  in 
the  little  brain. 

Alice  wound  her  arms  around  her  mother's  neck, 
and  kissed  her  gently. 

"  I  dreamed  of  him  last  night,  mamma.  He  was 
on  a  big  ship,  and  coming  right  towards  me.  And 
when  he  came  near,  I  waved  my  handkerchief,  and 
cried  out  to  him  ;  but  he  did  not  see  me,  and  his 
ship  went  sailing  on.  But  dreams  do  not  mean  any- 
thing, for  I  dreamed  once  that  I  was  dead  and  lying 
in  a  casket,  and  when  I  awoke  you  were  bending 
over  and  kissing  me.'* 

Ethel  said  very  little  about  anything.  She  kept 
to  her  amusements  all  day  long,  being  as  well  satis- 
fied when  she  was  alone  as  when  she  had  a  com- 
panion. If  Alice  talked  to  her  about  their  papa,  she 
would  shake  her  head  carelessly. 

"  No,  me  doesn't  know  any  papa,"  she  would  say. 
"Me  never  seen  'im." 

Mordaunt  came  nearlv  every  day,  for  since  Clark- 


HAUNTING  THB  RAILWAY   6TATIOH.  175 

ton  had  left  town,  he  saw  no  need  for  special  secresy. 
His  sympathy  for  Mrs.  Darrell  continued  to  increase 
as  he  noticed  the  sadness  which  now  marked  her 
every  mood  and  expression.  At  times  he  felt  so  in- 
censed against  her  husband  that  he  could  havo 
throttled  him  with  a  good  will  ;  and,  again,  he 
hardly  knew  which  of  them  to  pity  most.  At  these 
latter  times,  he  used  to  feel  that  his  friend  was  com- 
parable to  a  traveler  who  languishes  upon  a  desert, 
when  an  oasis  that  is  his  by  right  lies  within  a  hun- 
dred paces.  He  had  seen  enough  of  Darrell  to  know 
that  he  was  far  from  being  a  happy  man.  Much  of 
his  sadness  Mordaunt  laid  to  what  he  called  his 
"pestilential  doctrines,"  but  he  thought  a  wife  like 
Anna  ought  to  be  able  to  bring  light  into  the  face  of 
any  man,  even  a  rank  Anarchist.  Bachelor  as  he  was, 
it  seemed  to  him  little  less  than  a  crime  to  cast 
aside  the  love  of  such  a  woman,  and  he  felt  that  the 
effect  must  fall  heavily  upon  the  head  of  the  of- 
fender. 

Mordaunt's  position  was  a  very  strange  one. 
There  was  so  much  that  he  wanted  to  do,  and  so 
little  that  he  could  accomplish.  He  had  come  there 
at  first  from  motives  of  mere  curiosity,  and  the 
course  that  he  afterwards  adopted  grew  upon  him 
unawares.  The  change  in  all  the  habits  of  a  life- 
time astonished  but  did  not  dismay  him.  He  be- 
lieved, in  the  first  place,  that  Darrell  was  not 
wilfully  misled.  He  believed  all  that  Laura  Casson 
had  told  him  of  the  purity  of  their  relations,  and  he 
felt  that  there  was  no  such  chasm  to  bridge  as  if  the 
opposite  had  been  true.  If  he  could  show  Edmund 
the  full  value  of  the  treasure  he  had  neglected,  there 
was  great  reason  to  hope  that  he  would  assume  the 
right  position  at  last.  » 


17$  HEB    HUSBAHn'g   FBIEBTD. 

He  used  to  picture  to  himself  the  united  family, 
the  happy  wife,  the  fond  husband  and  father.  And 
at  such  times  he  used  to  wonder  why  his  own  heart 
grew  sick  within  him,  and  why  he  felt  like  fleeing 
from  the  place  where  all  this  good  result  had  grown 
from  his  unselfish  efforts. 

Darrell  wrote  to  Mordaunt  quite  frequently—- 
twice a  month,  at  least, — certainly  much  oftener 
than  he  did  to  his  wife.  Mordaunt's  answers  were 
all  mailed  from  New  York,  where  he  sent  them  to  his 
bankers,  and  dealt  solely  with  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  the  day.  When  a  letter  came  to  him,  dated  at 
Boston,  and  stating  that  Darrel  had  already  arrived 
in  America,  he  was  somewhat  surprised,  as  he  had 
not  expected  him  quite  so  soon.  It  made  him  a  little 
nervous,  too,  as  he  reflected  that  the  denouement 
must  now  be  very  near. 

He  was  glad  Edmund  was  in  the  country — of 
course  he  was — for  had  he  not  been  hoping  all  the 
summer  for  his  speedy  return  ?  The  sooner  he 
reached  Auburn  the  sooner  the  work  of  reconciliation 
could  be  begun.  But  something  was  the  matter 
with  the  peacemaker.  He  grew  paler,  and  neglected 
his  meals,  and  he  began  to  haunt  the  neighborhood 
of  the  railroad  station. 

There  was  one  train  from  the  east  that  stopped  at 
Auburn  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  an- 
other at  about  eight  at  night.  All  the  other  trains 
from  that  direction  dashed  contemptuously  by  the 
little  village  as  if  they  had  something  of  more  import- 
ance to  attend  to  than  its  insignificant  .interests. 
Mordaunt  went  regularly  to  each  of  these  trains, 
thinking  it  best  to  welcome  his  friend  at  the  thres- 
hold of  the  town.  He  paced  the  platform  sometimes 
half  w»  hour  before  the  train  was  due  according  t« 


OV  DAN»EROC8  €BOUffi£.  177 


the  printed  schedule  posted  on  the  walls  of  the  wait 
ing  room.  Ho  heard  the  rumbling  of  the  carriages 
in  the  distance;  the  shrill  scream  of  the  locomotive  a 
mile  away  ;  the  roar  of  the  approaching  mass  ;  the 
hissing  of  the  steam.  At  night  he  saw  the  huge  light 
come  bearing  down  upon  him  like  an  avenging  demon, 
There  was  nearly  always  somebody  who  alighted 
The  mail  bag  was  thrown  off,  a  trunk  or  two,  and  a 
few  express  parcels.  The  conductor  cried,  "All 
aboard  !"  The  wheels  again  revolved,  and  the  long 
serpent  vanished  around  the  bend. 

He  went  to  the  station  for  days  and  days,  and  saw 
this  repeated  like  a  dream  that  comes  and  goes  and 
never  changes.  He  saw  this  always,  but  there  was 
never  any  Edmund  Darrell. 

As  the  long  time  went  by,  he  grew  bitter  again. 
Edmund  was  at  Boston,  five  hours  or  so  away  from 
his  wife,  after  months  of  absence,  and  did  not  think 
it  worth  his  while  to  pay  her  even  a  brief  visit.  It 
was  even  worse  than  this,  for  Anna  showed,  in  res- 
ponse to  his  hints,  that  she  believed  her  husband  still 
in  Europe,  and  had  no  intimation  of  the  date  when 
he  might  be  expected.  It  was  growing  outrageous. 
It  was  becoming  unbearable. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

O*  DANvtfiROUS  GROUND, 

One  day,  in  one  of  his  walks  about  the  town,  he  met 

Miss  Burton.  He  knew  her  well  enough  to  bow  to 
her,  after  the  Auburn  fashion,  which  recognized  all 
reputable  people  after  the  third  street  meeting,  bill 


178  BKB  HUSBAND'S  FBIEND. 

he  had  never  spoken  to  her,  nor  she  to  him.  Thit 
time,  however,  she  halted  in  the  path,  and  fixed  her 
dark  eyes  upon  him,  looking,  as  she  leaned  on  her 
heavy  cane,  like  some  old  sorceress  about  to  weave 
a  spell  over  an  unlucky  traveler. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  young  man,"  she  said,  in  tone* 
very  like  a  command.  "  I  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

He  paused,  not  displeased  at  the  occurrence,  for  he 
thought  she  might  have  something  to  say  worth  his 
hearing.  He  knew  that  she  was  Mrs.  Darrell's  aunt, 
and  Landlord  Upham,  of  the  Auburn  House,  had 
told  him  of  the  prevailing  rumor  concerning  the  new 
will. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  Edmund  Darrell,"  she  said, 
in  a  grating  voice. 

"  I  know  Mr.  Darrell,"  was  his  reply. 

"  And  you  know  his  wife,  my  niece." 

w  Slightly.  Not  as  well  as  I  do  her  husband,"  he 
added,  with  a  vague  idea  that  it  was  better  to  tell 
her  that  before  she  proceeded  much  farther. 

She  peered  into  his  face  in  a  crone-like  way. 

"  Did  he  send  you  to  Auburn." 

*  He  ?    Send  me  here  !     Certainly  not '." 

"Why  does  he  not  come  home  ?" 

Very,  very  black  were  her  eyes  at  that  moment, 
and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  his  habit  to  make  long  calls 
when  he  comes,"  she  went  on,  sarcastically.  "The 
most  he  has  done  in  the  last  three  years  is  to  arrive 
on  the  morning  train  and  leave  at  night.  But  it  is 
more  than  six  months  since  he  was  here  last,  and  he 
not  only  does  not  come  but  he  does  not  write.  You 
are  his  friend,  and  you  probably  know  his  reasons." 

Mordaunt  regarded  the  old   woman   with  tfome 


OXT   DAWGEBOUS   GROUND.  179 

degree  of  curiosity.  He  could  not  get  angry  with 
her,  as  he  felt  he  ought. 

"If  I  knew  anything  about  Mr.  Darrell's  affairs,  I 
certainly  should  not  reveal  them  to  you,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  not,  I  fear,  any  too  friendly  in  your  feel- 
ings towards  him." 

Miss  Burton  struck  her  cane  savagely  upon  the 
ground. 

"  Ought  I  to  be  friendly  with  him  ?"  she  cried. 
"  Has  he  acted  in  a  way  to  deserve  my  friendship, 
do  you  think  ?  He  came  here  and  took  from  my 
house  a  girl  who  was  to  all  intents  my  daughter, 
almost  without  so  much  as  asking  if  he  might.  He 
married  her  when  she  was  only  eighteen,  a  mere 
child,  who  could  not  have  known  her  mind.  And 
then  " — the  old  lady  choked  between  her  wrath  and 
her  sorrow — "  and  then  he  left  her  within  a  week, 
and  she  has  hardly  seen  him  enough  since  to  know 
whether  she  has  a  husband  or  not !  I  suppose  you 
think  I  ought  to  be  very  fond  of  that  man,  and  to 
love  my  niece  better,  because  she  preferred  him  to 
her  kith  and  kin,  who  took  her  when  a  child  and 
would  have  left  her  all  they  had  as  if  she  were  their 
own  !  You  are  his  friend  and  you  can  speak  for  him. 
Is  he  justified  in  going  away  for  the  better  part  of  a 
year,  and  then  returning  to  America  without  even 
sending  her  a  letter  to  say  he  is  here  ?" 

She  knew  that,  too,  did  she  ? 

"  I  am  not  the  keeper  of  Mr.  Darrell's  conscience," 
he  replied,  evasively. 

"His  conscience!"  she  retorted.  "You  would 
have  a  fine  time  finding  it,  I  think  !  He  arrived  in 
Boston  three  weeks  ago.  I  know,  you  see.  Now,  is 
he  coming  here  again,  or  was  his  last  call  a  final  one  ? 
His  wife  knows  all  about  his  conduct.  She  has  the 


18C  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIEND. 

very  name  and  address  of  the  woman  for  whom  he 
deserts  her." 

Then  Mordaunt  thought  he  ought  to  interfere. 

"I  know  the  lady  to  whom  you  refer,"  he  said 
"  and  I  think  you  misjudge  her.  She  and  Mr.  Darrell 
edit  a  magazine  together.  I  am  confident  that  their 
connection  goes  no  further." 

Miss  Burton's  eyes  flashed  again. 

"Tell  that  to  some  one  besides  me!"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  venom.  "Tell  it  to  his  wife.  Prob- 
ably that  is  what  you  are  here  for.  You  can  make 
her  believe  the  moon  is  made  of  green  cheese,  but 
you  can't  stuff  such  nonsense  into  a  hard  old  head 
like  mine." 

She  shook  the  hard  old  head  until  the  black 
bonnet  threatened  to  fall  off. 

"  I  have  given  mj  niece  every  chance,"  she  contin- 
ued, after  a  pause.  "  If  she  prefers  the  sort  of  life 
she  is  living — and  the  sure  result  that  must  follow — 
to  her  father's  sister  and  brother,  very  well.  It  is 
an  old  and  true  saying  that  he  who  makes  the  bed 
must  lie  in  it.  When  the  time  comes  that  he  leaves 
her  entirely,  and  she  is  penniless  and  comes  to  me 
for  help,  I  won't  even  give  her  a  crust !  No,  I  will 
stand  and  let  her  starve !  She  makes  the  choice 
with  her  eyes  open  !" 

Mordaunt  flushed  a  little, 

'*  Mrs.  Darrell  will  never  come  to  you  as  a  beggar,*' 
he  said,  straightening  himself  up. 

"What  will  she  do,"  demanded  Miss  Burton, 
"when  she  is  left  with  her  two  children  to  support  ?** 

He  lowered  his  voice.  • 

"If  the  time  ever  comes,  Miss  Burton,  as  God 
grant  it  never  may,  when  your  niece  needs  pecuniary 
•id,  I  shall  make  it  my  duty  and  pleasure  to  relieve 


OH   DANGEROUS   GROUND.  181 

her.  I  have  a  large  fortune,  for  which  I  have  had 
as  yet  but  little  use.  It  will  be  open  to  her  at  such 
a  time." 

The  spinster  surveyed  the  author  of  this  statement 
with  more  interest  than  before.  Her  gaze  wandered 
over  his  form  from  toe  to  crown. 

"  Be  care-ful !"  she  said,  warningly.  "  You  are  on 
vc-ry  dan-ger-ous  ground." 

"  How  is  it  dangerous  ?" 

"Your  words  betray  you,  sir,"  she  replied. 

"  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Then  it  is  time  you  did.  Do  you  think,  in  the 
event  you  speak  of,  that  you  could  retain  the  friend- 
ship of  Mr.  Darrell  ?  If  he  knew  you  gave  money 
to  his  wife  it  would  shiver  his  good  feelings  towards 
you  as  a  hammer  would  shiver  glass." 

"  After  he  had  entirely  deserted  and  failed  to  sup- 
ply her  with  necessities  ?"  asked  Mordaunt. 

"  Yes." 

"  In  such  a  case  I  should  not  be  long  in  making 
my  choice,"  said  he.  "  I  should  have  to  sacrifice  my 
fviendship,  and  think  only  of  my  duty." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Miss  Burton.  "  Why  should 
you  have  a  duty  to  perform  towards  the  deserted 
wife  of  Edmund  Darrell,  more  than  towards  any 
other  necessitous  woman  ?  Look  out  for  yourself, 
young  man  !  Your  feet  are  on  ground  that  is  very 
dangerous." 

He  felt  the  force  of  what  she  said,  and  hesitated 
before  replying.  Then  her  voice  took  on  a  kinder 
tone. 

"  There  is  something  in  your  face  that  I  like  ;  I  am 
inclined  to  judge  you  differently  from  any  man  I 
know.  But  let  me  tell  you  candidly  what  I  should 
think  of  anyone  else  in  your  place.  I  should  beliere 


182  HER  HUSBAND'S  FKIKND. 

that  he  was  standing  by  the  tree  ready  to  catch  the 
fruit,  when  the  bough  fell  beneath  the  repeated 
blows  of  the  man  whose  duty  it  was  to  preserve  it." 

He  was  betrayed  into  giving  her  more  of  his  con- 
fidence that  he  had  intended. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  would  do  anything  to  prevent 
the  severing  of  that  bough  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  replied.  "  And  for  this  rea- 
son I  tell  you  still  that  you  are  standing  on  a  vol- 
cano. No  man  ever  successfully  arranged  a  difficulty 
between  a  husband  and  wife,  without  being  himself 
a  sufferer.  You  cannot  unite  these  mill-stones,  but 
if  you  could  you  would  be  ground  to  pieces  between 
them." 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  he  responded,  earnestly. 

Miss  Burton  searched  his  face  again  with  her  rest- 
less eyes. 

"  I  tell  you,  as  a  friend,  you  have  stayed  too  long 
in  Auburn,"  she  said.  "You  can  do  no  good  here, 
and  you  may  do  much  harm." 

"  How  can  I  do  harm,  and  to  whom  ?" 

*  To  yourself,  at  least.  To  your  friend's  wife, 
possibly." 

"  I  can  hardly  think  that  your  interest  in  her  wel- 
fare is  genuine,"  he  answered,  growing  suddenly 
red,  "  after  what  I  have  heard  you  say  to-day.  It 
icems  to  me  likely  that  Mrs.  Darrell  may  need  a 
friend,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  never  find  a  truer  one 
than  I." 

Miss  Burton  listened  with  more  patience  than 
could  have  been  expected. 

"But  you  ought  to  know,"  she  replied,  "  that  no 
man  can  show  such  friendship,  as  you  call  it,  to  a 
woman  whose  relations  with  her  husband  are  at 
fault,  without  doing  more  injury  than  he  can  ever 


OH   DANOEROU3   OROUMD.  18$ 

repair.  I  am  out  of  patience  with  my  niece,  it  Is 
true,  but  I  should  not  like  to  see  a  worse  thing 
happen  to  her  than  she  has  suffered  already.  You 
understand.  I  do  not  wish  her  good  name  com- 
promised." 

He  cried  out  in  pain,  as  if  she  had  pierced  his 
heart  with  a  knife. 

"  Miss  Burton—" 

"Not  so  fast,"  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  him.  "I 
do  not  mean  that  I  should  have  any  doubt  of  my 
niece's  honor  under  any  circumstances.  I  think  I 
know  her  well  enough  for  that.  But  the  clamor  of 
public  gossip  no  one  can  stop.  You  can  never  con- 
vince the  world  that  it  is  an  innocent  proceeding  to 
take  the  side  of  a  woman  in  conflict  with  her  hus- 
band, or  to  give  her  aid  after  dhe  has  separated  from 
him." 

"What  must  I  do,  then  ?"  he  demanded,  growing 
desperate,  for  she  seemed  to  be  weaving  a  net  around 
him. 

She  struck  her  stick  again  with  a  characteristic 
motion  upon  the  walk. 

"  Leave  Auburn  ;  go  on  your  travels.  Cease  med- 
dling with  what  you  cannot  help." 

"  If  I  were  her  brother — "  he  began,  retrospec- 
tively. 

"  But  you  are  not !  There  is  no  position  in  the 
affair  that  can  be  explained  if  tongues  begin  to  wag." 

He  thought  it  over  for  a  minute,  and  then  return- 
ed to  the  argument. 

'*  There  is  force  in  what  you  say,  Miss  Burton,  but 
it  would  have  more  weight  with  me  if  it  came  from 
some  other  source.  Just  consider  the  case  as  it  pre- 
sents itself  to  my  mind.  Ycu  are  so  angry  with  your 
nice-:  for  continuing  to  live  as  Mr.  Darrell's  wif« 


184  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

that  you  openly  declare  all  relations  over  between 
you.  Common  rumor  says  that  you  have  already 
altered  your  will  so  as  to  cut  her  off  with  nothing. 
You  have  told  me  that  you  would  let  her  starve  in 
case  he  deserted  her,  if  she  applied  to  you  for  aid, 
and  she  seems  to  have  no  other  near  relations  to 
help  her.  And  you  have  done  more  than  this.  You 
have  caused  her  to  suspect  her  husband's  fealty,  and 
have  done  your  best  to  precipitate  a  collision  when- 
ever  he  comes  home.  Now,  I  have  no  selfish  motive 
in  whatever  I  may  do.  I  have  no  hatreds  to  foster, 
no  spites  to  carry  to  the  bitter  end.  Both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Darrell  are  my  esteemed  friends.  If  they 
become  happily  united,  my  mission  will  be  finished. 
If  worse  comes  to  worse,  and  either  of  them — either 
of  them,  Miss  Burton — need  my  assistance,  they  shall 
have  it." 

"  I  have  given  you  sensible  advice,"  she  answered. 
"You  must  be  your  own  judge  about  following  it. 
A  man  may  smoke  a  cigar  in  a  powder  magazine  for 
months  without  doing  any  harm,  but  if  a  spark  does 
touch  the  powder  it  is  then  too  late  for  repentance.'' 

With  these  words  she  turned  abruptly  and  left  him 
there.  He  walked  slowly  back  to  his  hotel,  ponder- 
ing upon  her  strange  warning,  and  trying  to  weigh 
the  pros  and  cons  of  her  suggestions.  He  had 
known  for  a  long  time  that  there  was  something 
unusual  in  the  way  he  regarded  the  Darrell  affair. 
Now  the  matter  was  presented  to  him  as  it  appeared 
to  an  on-looker,  not  unprejudiced  in  judgment,  to 
be  sure,  but  capable  of  forming  an  opinion,  and 
knowing  what  others  might  do  and  think.  Above 
all  things,  he  would  not  wish  to  cause  suspicion  to 
rest  on  Mrs.  Darrell,  and  he  realized  that  there  was 
truth  in  the  prognostications  that  ho  had  just  heard. 


ON  DANGEROUS  GROUND.  18ft 

It  he  remained  much  longer,  he  might  do  her  much 
more  harm  than  he  could  possibly  do  good.  He 
began  to  stare  the  idea  of  departure  in  the  face  ;  and 
when  he  comprehended  how  much  it  meant  to  him 
to  leave  Auburn,  and  how  little  he  cared  for  the  rest 
of  the  world,  his  spirits  sank  very  low. 

He  went  as  usual  at  eight  o'clock  to  the  station, 
and  he  saw  as  usual  the  train  arrive  and  depart  with- 
out the  object  of  his  search.  He  would  have  been 
greatly  surprised  had  it  been  otherwise,  for  he  had 
quite  given  up  expecting  to  see  him.  When  the 
train  rolled  off,  he  walked  over  to  Mrs.  Darrell's,  re- 
solved to  tell  that  he  was  going. 

She  received  him,  as  she  always  did  now,  with  a 
sad  smile  of  welcome,  and  he  saw  that  she  had  re- 
cently been  weeping.  He  dared  not  ask  what  caused 
those  tears.  He  led  the  conversation  into  ordinary 
topics  for  a  few  minutes,  in  hopes  to  see  her  counte- 
nance brighten,  but  in  vain.  At  last,  despairing  of 
reaching  the  point  by  circumlocution,  he  came  to 
it  directly. 

"  I  do  not  know  as  you  will  see  me  again  very 
soon  after  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  think  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  go  away  to-morrow." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  responded,  with  a  nervous  start. 
a  I  wish  you  could  stay  a  little  longer.  I  expect  my 
—  my  husband — very  soon." 

"He  has  written?"  said  Mordaunt,  incautiously. 

Another  tremor  passed  through  her. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  never  thinking  of  equivo- 
cation. "  But  Mr.  Barker,  the  grocer,  told  me  that  he 
saw  him  in  Boston  yesterday.  Edmund  said  he  had 
been  very  busy  since  his  arrival,  but  that  he  should 
come  as  *ooa  as  possible.  You — you  have  not 
heard  r 


186  HER    HUSBAND'S   FBIBXD. 

He  was  ashamed  to  lie  to  those  honest  eyei. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard,"  he  admitted,  "but  I  did  not 
know  how  to  tell  you.  I  do  not  know  how  to  tell 
you  anything,"  he  proceeded,  his  voice  shaking. 
"I  have  wanted  to  help  you,  and  I  have  not 
known  what  to  do.  And — I  am  going — away." 

She  struggled  to  command  herself  and  succeeded, 
though  it  was  a  sore  task. 

"  How  long  has  he  been  in  the  country  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Three  weeks,"  he  answered,  guiltily. 

"  And  at  Boston  all  the  time  ?" 

« I  think  so." 

His  eyes  could  not  leave  the  carpet.  His  face  was 
on  fire. 

"  Mr.  Mordaunt,"  she  said,  bravely,  "  you  told  me 
a  few  weeks  ago  that  the  stories  about  my  husband 
were,  to  the  best  of  your  belief,  untrue.  Do  you 
still  say  that  ?" 

He  bowed  a  mute  assent 

w  Then  why — why,  I  ask — has  he  stayed  three  weeks 
in  Boston,  without  even  sending  word  to  me  that  he 
had  left  Europe  ?  I  ask  you  as  his  friend,  what  ex- 
planation he  can  make  ?" 

Mordaunt  felt  his  head  swimming. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  stammered. 
"I  believe  him  guiltless  of  crime,  but  I  cannot 
account  for  his  actions.  You  ought  not  to  ask  me 
these  questions,  and  I  ought  not  to  answer  you." 

She  had  an  exterior  of  wonderful  coolness  as  she 
heard  and  spoke. 

"  Excuse  me.  I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  ways 
of  the  world.  I  have  only  lived  in  Auburn.  I  do 
not  know  how  much  I  ought  to  confide  in  you  ;  but 
this  I  will  say,  he  must  explain  everything  to  me. 


STTTSG    TO   MADNESS.  187 

or  I  will  never  consent  to  go  on  bearing  the  name 
of  wife  to  him." 

"Hush  !"  he  said,  pleadingly.  "  Do  not  say  these 
things.  I  am  going.  Here  is  my  card,  with  an 
address  where  mail  will  always  reach  me.  If  you 
ever  need  me — understand,  need  me — write,  and 
I  will  respond.  Do  not  think  I  want  to  go,  but  it 
has  become  my  imperative  duty.  I  shall  think  of 
you  every  hour.  If  I  ever  utter  a  prayer  it  will  be 
for  you.  When  the  right  time  comes  you  will  see 
me  again.  But  now — I  must  go." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  did  not  look 
up  as  he  left  the  room.  All  the  light  seemed  to 
have  faded  out  of  her  life. 

Mordaunt  opened  the  gate  with  a  shaking  hand, 
and  heard  it  latch  with  its  sharp  click  behind  him. 
Before  he  had  taken  twenty  steps  he  met  a  man  who 
barred  his  progress, 

"Stop,  Harold  Mordaunt, "  said  the  man.  "I 
have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

It  was  Edmund  Darrell. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

STUNG    TO   MADNKS5. 

Society  has  thrown  such  bars  and  gates  around  the 
possession  of  that  species  of  personal  property  known 
as  women,  that  every  poacher  on  domestic  preserves 
should  know  well  the  perils  he  may  encounter. 
Buckshot  will  do  for  a  chicken  thief,  but  bullets  are 
•upposed  to  be  the  correct  thing  for  a  seducer. 


188  HBR  HUSBAND'S  I-RIEND. 

Though  thoroughly  conscious  of  the  rectitude  of  his 
purpose  in  all  that  he  had  done,  Harold  Mordaunt 
felt  a  chill  similar  to  that  which  the  muzzle  of  a 
revolver  imparts  to  the  neck,  when  he  heard  his  name 
called  in  that  strange  manner,  and  recognized  the 
voice  as  that  of  the  man  whose  wife  he  had  just  left. 
He  knew  that  the  color  had  forsaken  his  cheek, 
but  he  resolved  to  put  on  the  best  front  he  could. 

"Ah,  Edmund,  is  it  you  ?"  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand. 

Darrell  did  not  offer  to  accept  the  welcome.  He 
had  a  constrained  look,  as  could  plainly  be  seen  in 
the  fairly  clear  atmosphere  of  the  evening.  For 
three  or  four  seconds  Mordaunt  studied  the  face 
before  him,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  knew  that 
a  physical  encounter  at  least  was  not  one  of  the 
things  to  be  feared.  But  what  to  call  the  sentiment 
that  gave  the  peculiar  appearance  to  his  friend's  face 
he  could  not  tell. 

"I  have  offered  you  my  hand,  Edmund,"  he  said, 
at  last,  "and  you  have  refused  it.  As  I  have  done 
nothing  to  deserve  this,  I  ask  for  the  reason." 

When  Darrell  replied,  his  voice  and  manner  were 
those  of  a  person  who  wishes  to  hasten  the  business 
before  him.  He  spoke  quietly — almost  unintelligi- 
bly at  times — and  his  gaze  was  fixed  alternately  on 
the  ground,  on  the  adjacent  trees,  and  on  the  sky  •, 
everywhere,  in  fact,  except  upon  his  companion. 

"You  ask  an  explanation,"  he  began.  "  Well,  I  do 
•ot  intend  to  give  one,  for  I  consider  it  a  superfluity. 
I  know  how  you  have  passed  the  summer.  You 
have  not  acted  the  part  of  a  friend,  and  the  best  way 
is  to  cease  pretending  to  be  one.  Still  I  am  not  here 
to  find  as  much  fault  as  you  might  think  natural. 
I  do  feel  outraged — you  can  well  believe  that — but 


STUITG  TO   MADNESS.  189 

perhaps  I  am  also  a  little  to  blame.  You  knew  my 
secret.  You  knew  that  I  had  a  wife  who  was  very 
young,  quite  inexperienced,  and  whom  I  undoubt- 
edly neglected.  You  had  seen  her  photograph^ 
which  showed  that  she  was  comely.  I  presume  it 
was  an  opportunity  that  you  could  not  resist." 

Harold  Mordaunt  bit  his  lips  until  the  blood  came. 
He  folded  his  arms  and  looked  at  the  speaker  with- 
out a  word.  Then  Darrell  proceeded. 

*'  Some  men  would  say — most  men,  in  fact — that  I 
ought  to  kill  you.  I  do  not  care  for  their  opinion. 
I  have  ethics  and  standards  of  my  own.  When  I 
heard  of  this  I  had  a  good  while  to  think  it  over, 
and  I  found  that  there  were  two  men  who  must  be 
tried  together.  I  was  one  of  the  two.  The  guilt 
began  with  me,  years  ago,  when  I  married  this  girl 
without  loving  her,  and  it  has  grown  ever  since 
through  my  constant  neglect.  I  said  to  myself, 
*  This  Harry  Mordaunt  is  a  pleasure  seeker.  He  has 
no  serious  business  in  life.  The  course  he  has  taken 
is  the  one  that  ought  to  have  been  expected.  It 
was  outrageous,  surely,  to  select  the  home  of  his 
bosom  friend  for  spoliation,  but  many  another 
idler  has  given  him  a  precedent.  I  left  my  fold 
unprotected.  If  some  wolf  has  entered  I  ought 
rather  to  blame  my  own  credulity  than  to  curse 
the  conduct  of  a  creature  that  has,  after  all,  mere- 
ly acted  out  its  nature.  So  I  came  down  here 
to-night,  not  to  assault  you,  not  even  to  say  ugly 
things,  but  to  ask  you  what  you  propose  to  do,  that 
there  may  be  no  misunderstanding  hereafter." 

Mordaunt's  tightly  folded  ams  could  not  conceal 
the  agitation  that  shook  him.  He  shut  his  teeth  more 
tightly  together,  and  said  nothing. 

**  Th«  simplest  way  is  for  me  to  continue  t®  absent 


190  HER  HUSBAND'^  JUUKND. 

myself  until  the  legal  period  of  desertion  entitles  hei 
to  a  divorce,"  continued  Darrell.  "  I  prefer  that  the 
blame  should  fall  on  me  alone,  for  the  sake  of  the 
children.  I  will  not  consent,  however,  to  endure  a 
grosser  charge,  as  I  have  never  been  guilty  of  any, 
and  care  very  much  about  my  character  as  an  hon- 
est man.  In  the  meantime,  if  you  will  excuse  a  sug- 
gestion, I  think  you  ought  not  to  stay  so  much  in 
Auburn.  If  Anna  wishes  to  leave  here  and  accom- 
pany you  to  some  distant  place — say  in  the  South  or 
West — where  you  are  both  unknown,  it  will  not 
be  so  objectionable,  I  do  not  pretend  to  dictate, 
but  Auburn  people  are  sad  gossips.  As  soon  as  she 
gets  her  papers  that  will  sever  her  connection  with 
me,  I  hope — I  hope — that  you  will  do  your  best  to 
repair  the  wrong  you  have  done." 

He  seemed  to  wait  as  if  for  a  word  from  the  maq 
he  addressed,  but  there  was  none.  He  then  con. 
tinued  in  the  same  quiet  strain,  looking  at  the  clump 
of  trees  across  the  street : 

"  There  are  the  children.  Of  course,  she  will  want 
them  both.  If  I  had  proceeded  in  the  ordinary  way,  I 
could  have  taken  them  from  her;  but  the  last  thing 
I  wish  in  the  world  is  revenge.  I  will  provide  what- 
ever she  thinks  is  right  toward  their  support.  I 
suppose  some  people  think  I  do  not  love  my  chil- 
dren, knowing  that  I  have  been  so  much  from  them. 
That  is  not  true.  Perhaps  she  has  an  idea — perhaps 
some  one  has  told  her — that  I  shall  marry  again.  I 
do  not  think  so.  There  was  a  time,  in  my  younger 
days,  when  I  believed  Miss  Casson's  love  necessary 
to  my  happiness.  That  time  has  passed.  As  I  have 
told  you,  all  our  relations  have  been  as  pure  as 
could  be  imagined.  We  have  been  friends,  and  are 
•till  so,  but  no  more.  If  you  will  tell  Anna  this 


STUXG  TO   MADNESS.  191 

some  time  when  you  are  together,  I  will  thank  you. 
I  do  not  wish  to  increase  the  regrets  that  will  be  in- 
separable from  her  new  position,  for  I  know  that  she 
has  a  conscience  that  will  not  let  her  rest  content ; 
but  it  is  only  justice  to  me  that  she  should  hear  this.  ' 

A  passer-by  would  have  thought  the  two  men  were 
discussing  some  very  ordinary  affair.  Darrell  spoke 
in  a  monotone,  as  if  he  were  arranging  something 
for  a  third  party. 

"  There  is  the  house."  He  indicated  it  with  a 
motion  of  his  thumb.  "  That  is  hers,  of  course.  The 
furniture  and  everything  in  it  she  is  welcome  to.  I 
hope  she  will  go  away  soon,  and  not  stay  to  hear  the 
talk  that  will  be  made,  or  to  reply  to  questions.  If 
she  is  willing  that  I  should  see  the  children  some- 
times, she  can  write  to  me,  saying  when  and  where. 
If  she  had  rather  I  would  not  speak  to  them,  I 
would  like  to  go  where  I  can  occasionally  see  them 
pass.  I  hope  she  will  not  speak  too  harshly  of  me  to 
them.  It  is  all  very  strange.  I  cannot  comprehend 
her  leading  this  new  life.  She  always  seemed  so 
innocent.  I  trust  that  you  will  use  her  well.  She  is 
very  sweet  and  gentle.  You  had  best  not  take  her 
into  society,  after  your — your  marriage — even  in  a 
new  country  where  you  are  unknown.  She  would 
not  shine  there.  Her  place  is  in  some  quiet  Tillage 
like  Auburn." 

He  paused,  and  his  eyes  roamed  for  a  moment 
across  the  valley. 

"  I  am  saying  a  good  many  things  pretty  rapidly, 
but  I  have  to  speak  as  they  occur  to  me.  Anna  has 
an  aunt  here,  a  Miss  Burton,  whose  heir  she  ought 
to  be.  I  hear  that  the  woman  has  recently  changed 
her  will,  because  of  her  hatred  to  me.  If  she  is  told 
that  Anna  intends  to  get  a  divorce,  she  will  probably 


make  another  will  like  the  first.  Of  course,  /ou 
would  have  to  keep  in  the  background.  It  it  some- 
thing worth  saving,  over  a  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
I  am  a  Socialist  in  my  views,  but  under  present  con- 
ditions, people  must  have  money.  Don't  forget  to 
speak  to  her  of  this  and  to  urge  it  upon  her.  She  is 
careless  in  such  matters.  She  can  use  the  money  to 
educate  the  children.  The  younger  one,  Ethel,  will 
be  very  bright,  if  I  am  not  mistaken.  The  elder  is 
a  quiet  little  thing,  very  much  like  her  mother,  or 
rather  like  what  I  used  to  think  her  mother  was.  1 
shall  give  her  as  much  as  she  wishes,  but  the  aunt's 
money  ought  to  be  looked  after.  Yes — it  ought  to 
be  looked  after." 

He  seemed  lost  in  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
added  : 

44  That  is  all,  I  believe,  unless  you  think  of  some- 
thing." 

For  the  first  time  he  met  Mordaunt's  gaze  and 
was  evidently  startled  to  see  the  convulsed  anger 
that  filled  it. 

"  You — you  do  think  of  something  ?"  said  he. 

**Yes,  I  do  think  of  something!"  said  Mordaunt, 
with  thick  utterance.  "I  think  that  you  are  the 
most  contemptible  of  all  living  creatures  !  I  think 
that  I  ought  to  put  my  hands  on  your  throat  and 
choke  your  miserable  soul  out  of  you  !" 

Dan-ell's  surprise  was  evident,  but  he  responded, 
apparently  quite  unperturbed  : 

44  Softly,  Mordaunt,  softly  !" 

44  The  idea  of  your  coming  here,'*  continued  the 
other,  threateningly,  "  with  this  silly  pack  of  sen- 
tences, based,  as  you  well  know,  on  the  blackest 
falsehoods  ever  invented  in  hell !  The  idea  that 
you  can  stand  there  like  a  cur,  and  utter  such  vile 


TO  HADNBB6.  198 


against  the  purest,  noblest  woman  that 
Heaven  could  give  to  such  a  wretch  as  you  !  To 
pretend  to  my  face  that  you  believe  me  guilty  of 
offenses  which  you  ought  to  blush  to  ihink  of  !  T« 
slander  thus  your  devoted  wife,  the  angelic  mother 
of  your  children  ?  God,  Edmund  Darrell  !  how 
could  even  infatuation  for  another  woman  so  have 
changed  you  !" 

Darrell  still  seemed  unmoved. 

"You  deny  everything,  then?"  he  said.  "I  wa> 
hardly  prepared  for  that,  and  yet  it  did  occur  to  me 
that  you  might  do  so.  But  your  violence  is  ill-timed. 
I  assure  you  that  I  have  proofs." 

"  Proofs  !"  exclaimed  Mordaunt,  in  a  tone  of  min- 
gled rage  and  astonishment. 

"  Indeed,  yes,  plenty  of  them.  You  cannot  wish 
to  drive  me  to  produce  them  As  I  have  told  you,  I 
much  prefer  the  milder  way  ;  but  if  you  compel  mt 
I  shall  bring  forth  my  witnesses." 

Mordaunt  turned  toward  his  accuser  and  hissed 
the  word  "  Liar  !"  in  his  face.  He  could  not  bear 
to  touch  him,  and  yet  it  seemed  impossible  to  resist. 

"  It  is  evident  that  I  shall  have  to  tell  you,"  said 
Darrell,  with  a  demeanor  that  seemed  frigid  when 
compared  to  the  heat  shown  by  his  companion. 
"You  have  been  in  Auburn  for  months  and  have 
visited  my  wife  almost  every  evening/* 

"Admitted,"  replied  Mordaunt,  defiantly.  "  But 
does  character  count  for  nothing  ?  Is  Anna  Darrell 
the  kind  of  woman  who  cannot  meet  her  friends  in 
her  own  residence,  under  the  roof  that  covers  her 
children,  without  suspicion  ?  Say  nothing  about 
me  —  leave  me  out  of  the  question—  do  you  claim 
that  this  is  true  -of  your  wife  ?" 

Darrell  shook  his  head  slowly. 


194:  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

"It  is  useless,  Harry.  I  did  not  wish  for  th!§ 
scene.  You  and  she  have  driven  out  in  the  Brixton 
forest  and  met  there  time  and  again.  You  have 
been  watched." 

"And  the  children — were  they  not  always  with 
her?" 

"The  children,"  replied  Darrell,  impressively, 
"are  very  young." 

Mordaunt  lifted  his  clenched  fist. 

"  I  can  bear  no  more  of  this  !"  he  cried,  raising 
his  voice.  "You  will  force  me  to  doing  that  which 
I  shall  be  sorry  for.  There  must  be  ways  to  get  rid 
of  your  present  wife  and  secure  the  one  you  seek 
for  without  this  wholesale  slander.  Anna  Darrell  Is 
a  woman  whom  no  temptation  could  persuade  to 
baseness.  To  you,  or  to  anyone  who  has  poisoned 
your  ears  with  these  tales,  I  repeat  that  they  are  lies, 
KeSy  LIES  !  I  came  here  and  found  her  friendless.  I 
hav  e  visited  at  her  house.  I  have  sometimes  met 
her  when  out  driving,  and  we  have  stopped  to  talk. 
But  never  the  suspicion  of  a  thought  that  you  and 
all  the  world  might  not  have  known  has  passed 
between  us.  I  am  about  to  leave  Auburn.  A  min- 
ute before  I  met  you  I  said  good-bye  to  her,  as  I 
was  going  away  in  the  morning.  Every  insinuation 
that  you  make  against  her  is  groundless,  and  I  can- 
not trust  myself  to  listen  to  you  any  longer." 

"Let  me  suggest  that  you  calm  yourself,"  was 
the  quiet  reply.  "  You  are  inexplicably  excited  for 
a  perfectly  innocent  man.  The  extraordinary  inter- 
est that  you  take  in  defending  my  wife,  would  be 
considered  by  some  as  in  itself  suspicious." 

All  the  affection  that  Mordaunt  had  learned  to 
feel  for  Anna  Darrell  swept  over  him.  Hi*  hand 
dropped  to  his  side  and  his  voice  trembled. 


STFNO   TO   MADNESS.  19A 

"I  do  take  an  interest  in  her,"  he  said,  earnestly. 
I  have  learned  what  a  treasure  it  is  that  you  have 
cast  aside.  I  have  hoped  and  prayed  for  the  day 
when  you  would  return,  that  I  might  try  to  persuade 
you  to  treat  her  in  a  manner  more  consonant  with 
her  worth.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  show  you 
your  great  mistake.  She  is  not  the  uninteresting 
woman  you  have  represented  her.  With  a  little  cul- 
tivation she  would  adorn  any  circle.  I  have  seen 
the  sweetness  of  her  motherhood.  I  have  noted  the 
tender  way  in  which  she  always  speaks  of  you,  never 
even  by  implication  complaining  of  your  dastardly 
conduct.  She  has  known  for  some  time  that  you  have 
returned  from  Europe,  though  you  were  '  too  busy* 
with  your  affairs  at  Boston  to  write  her  a  word, 
and  all  that  she  has  done  has  been  to  excuse  you 
and  hope  each  day  for  your  advent.  Never  a  mur- 
mur has  escaped  her,  though  there  were  traces  of 
tears  that  she  could  not  hide  and  a  lowness  of  spirits 
that  testified  of  the  loyal  heart  that  was  breaking." 

The  husband  listened  attentively. 

"  She  was  doubtless  indebted  to  you  for  the  infor- 
mation that  I  was  so  near,"  he  suggested. 

"  By  no  means.  I  held  my  peace,  fearing  to  add 
to  a  burden  that  I  could  see  was  becoming  already 
too  great.  One  of  the  townspeople,  the  grocer  whom 
she  patronizes,  told  her  of  meeting  you,  and  when 
she  mentioned  it  to  me,  I  tried  to  pretend  ignorance, 
but  could  not.  Her  aunt,  Miss  Burton,  knew  all 
about  it ;  half  the  town,  for  what  I  know.  She  was 
aware  that  you  corresponded  with  me,  and  when 
she  told  me  what  she  had  learned  I  could  no  longer 
deny  it." 

Darrell  let  his  gaze  fall  on  the  patch  of  grass  which 
bordered  the  walk  at  his  feet. 


190  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBDBSIX 

"Perhaps  she  knows  more,"  he  said,  slowly. 
u  Perhaps  she  has  heard  of — of  Miss  Casson  ?" 

"She  has." 

"  Really  !  And  for  that  knowledge,  she  was  not, 
cither,  I  presume,  indebted  in  any  way  to  you  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  have  done  everything  to  shield 
you.  Smile,  if  you  will — " 

"I  am  not  smiling,"  interpolated  DarrelL 

44  You  are  incredulous,  however." 

"Naturally." 

44  Then  I  will  tell  you  no  more,"  returned  Mor, 
daunt,  angrily.  "  If  my  reputation  for  truth  avails 
me  nothing,  I  am  foolish  to  waste  words  on  you. 
Let  me  only  repeat  before  I  leave  that  your  wife  is 
the  purest  woman  I  ever  met,  and  that,  in  neglecting 
her  as  you  do,  you  are  casting  aside  a  pearl  the  like 
of  which  you  will  not  find  again.  I  had  hoped  to 
see  you  restored  to  her  in  the  intimate  relations 
which  she  has  a  right  to  demand  and  expect.  After 
the  glimpses  of  your  inner  self  which  you  have  given 
me  to-night  I  can  only  hope  that  you  will  carry  out 
your  purpose  of  abandoning  her.  I  can  conceive 
no  worse  fate  for  such  a  woman  than  to  spend  a  life- 
time in  your  company." 

He  had  turned  on  his  heel  and  taken  a  step  away 
when  the  branches  of  the  hedge  that  enclosed  the 
homestead  were  parted  and  Anna  Darrell's  face 
appeared.  It  was  a  face  white  with  excitement,  and 
she  looked  more  like  a  spirit  than  a  living  soul. 
Both  men  started  at  the  unexpected  apparition. 

44 1  have  heard  every  word,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  was  full  of  surprising  firmness,  "  and  I  have 
something  to  say  to  both  of  you.  Will  you  come 
into  the  house  ?" 

was  astonished  even  more  than  Mordaunt 


8TOTG  TO  MABBB86.  191 

at  her  manner,  at  once  so  gentle  and  so  command- 
ing. 

He  did  not  like  to  prolong  the  scene,  but  he 
thought  it  the  better  way  to  comply,  and  he  started 
toward  the  gate  without  speaking.  Mordaunt  waited 
a  second,  wishing  to  escape,  if  possible. 

"Are  you  sure  you  want  me  also  ?'  he  asked  her. 

"I  want  you  both." 

He  waited  no  longer,  but  followed  Darrell.  At 
the  steps  of  the  house  Anna  met  them. 

"Walk  as  quietly  as  you  can,"  she  said,  "  and  speak 
only  in  low  tones.  I  would  like  not  to  disturb  th« 
servants." 

They  tiptoed  into  the  parlor  with  the  stealthiness 
of  burglars.  Each  of  the  men  felt  how  much  this 
action  increased  the  oddity  of  the  situation.  Having 
closed  the  door  softly,  Mrs.  Darrell  faced  her  compan- 
ions, with  great  self  possession. 

"  My  spying  upon  you  was  wholly  accidental,"  she 
said,  addressing  her  husband.  "  I  had  gone  to  my 
room,  in  which  a  window  happened  to  be  open.  I 
heard  your  voice  and  I  could  not  help  listening. 
When  I  discovered  whom  you  were  talking  with,  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  pleasant  thing  to  surprise  you. 
It  was  only  when  I  was  near  enough  to  catch  the 
drift  of  your  conversation  that  I  found  it  advisable 
to  pause." 

She  looked  appealingly  at  him,  hoping  that  he 
would  say  something,  but  he  did  not.  Stopping  to 
take  a  deeper  breath,  she  continued  : 

"  I  have  been  a  child  all  my  life,  Edmund.  To- 
night, in  one  moment,  I  became  a  woman.  You 
wish  to  leave  me.  It  shall  be  so.  Were  you  to  ask 
it  now,  with  all  the  apologies  you  could  make,  I 
never  be  a  wife  to  you  again.  I  will  g«  tr&m 


198  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Auburn  as  soon  as  I  can  get  ready,  and  I  will  take 
the  children  with  me.  If  you  wish  to  help  support 
them,  I  presume  you  will  have  a  right  to  do  so.  I  do 
not  know  how  bad  you  consider  me — when  you 
think  I  first  became  unfaithful — but  you  do  not 
doubt,  I  suppose,  that  you  are  the  father  of  Alice 
and  Ethel  ?" 

For  the  first  time  a  spasm  of  deadly  pain  crossed 
Darrell's  features. 

"No,  no  !"  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "There 
was  no  need  of  saying  that !" 

"  There  was  a  question  I  meant  to  put  to  you," 
she  went  on,  icily,  "  but  I  no  longer  care  to  have  it 
answered.  When  my  Aunt  Burton  told  me  that  you 
were  living  in  Boston  with  another  woman — when 
she  went  so  far  as  to  disinherit  me  for  my  blind  faith 
in  you — I  said  to  her,  *  Edmund  will  not  lie  to  me  ; 
f  will  ask  him.'  But  now  it  makes  no  difference. 
You  have  doubted  me,  and  whether  you  have  been 
true  or  false  I  care  not.  For  eight  years  I  have 
professed  to  be  your  wife.  You  know  how  you 
have  treated  me.  You  know  how  I  have  borne  it. 
I  have  had  no  friends,  no  intimate  acquaintances. 
This  summer  Mr.  Mordaunt  came  here.  He  has 
been  a  brother  to  me,  never  anything  more,  in  word, 
deed,  or,  I  believe,  in  thought.  He  has  acted  like  a 
brother  to  you,  also.  He  told  me  that  the  stories 
about  you  were  falsehoods.  Now,  there  is  only  one 
thing  more.  You  have  made  insinuations  against 
my  honor  to-night  which  will  forever  divide  you 
and  me.  I  only  ask  you  to  say,  before  you  go, 
whether  you  still  believe  them." 

Darrell  was  powerfully  affected  by  his  wife's  words. 
He  had  never  heard  her  utter  anything  beyond  the 
most  ordinary  expressions,  and  her  new  eloquence 


8TUNO   TO    MAWTEISS. 

positively  astounded  him.  Was  this  the  woman 
whose  ignorance  he  had  so  long  pitied  and  despised  ? 
In  spite  of  her  extreme  paleness,  he  saw,  also,  that 
she  had  a  beauty  of  face  and  a  dignity  of  carriage 
that  he  had  never  noticed.  She  was  standing,  as 
were  also  both  the  others,  and  her  full,  dark  eyes 
did  not  flinch  as  he  looked  up  at  her. 

"  If  you  deny  it — "  he  began, 

"  I  do  not !"  she  interrupted.  "  I  cannot  stoop  to 
deny  a  thing  that  has  never  entered  my  thoughts — 
that  would  be  as  impossible  to  me  as  the  murder 
of  my  children  !  Aside  from  what  I  may  or  may 
not  say,  candidly,  unequivocally,  do  you  believe  I 
have  been  untrue?  I  want  your  answer." 

He  looked  up  again,  but  could  not  endure  the  gaze 
which  she  fixed  upon  him.  Then  he  looked  at  Mor- 
daunt,  in  whose  face  was  pictured  the  most  intense 
sympathy  for  the  accused  woman.  There  was  no 
guilt  in  either  countenance — and  yet — he  had  heard. 

"  I  have  been  told — "  he  began  again. 

"  Excuse  me,  Edmund,  but  you  are  not  answering 
me." 

41  What  can  I  do,*  he  broke  out,  in  desperation, 
"  when  they  come  to  me  with  witnesses,  when  they 
pile  up  the  most  damaging  circumstantial  evidence  ? 
I  have  told  your  friend  here — I  have  told  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt — that  I  do  not  wish  to  accuse  you  in  public. 
I  am  willing  to  go  farther  than  that  and  say  I  never 
will  accuse  you.  I  prefer — I  have  said  I  preferred 
— to  let  all  the  obloquy  of  our  separation  fall  on  me. 
I  am  sure  I  do  not  see  what  more  I  could  offer. 
You  would  not  like  to  be  brought  into  court  in  a 
suit  for  divorce  and  confronted  with  evidence." 

"  I  would  !"  exclaimed  his  wife,  earnestly. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  kn«w  what  you  are  saying.** 


900  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FSIEND. 

*  Ves,  I  da  If  there  is  any  way  it  can  be  accom- 
plished, I  shall  insist  on  it  If  there  is  any  person, 
however  contemptible,  who  dares  accuse  me  of 
wrongdoing,  I  wish  to  be  brought  face  to  face  with 
him,  before  some  tribunal  that  can  decide  between 
us.  I  shall  then  be  able  to  leave  the  court  room 
with  either  my  guilt  or  my  innocence  established. 
To-day,  some  skulker  is  abroad  with  invented  stories. 
I  cannot  put  my  hand  upon  him.  He  can  talk,  and 
not  only  you,  but  possibly  others  will  listen  to  him. 
I  entreat  you,  bring  this  matter  into  court  without 
delay.  I  want  to  know  who  it  is  that  charges  me — 
me — with  dishonor  !" 

She  drew  herself  up  until  she  seemed  the  tallest 
of  the  three,  and  no  American  judge  or  jury  would 
have  hesitated  a  moment  in  pronouncing  her  an 
innocent  woman. 

**  I  repeat,"  said  Darrell,  somewhat  confused, 
44  that  I  did  not  wish  for  any  scene.  It  seems  unnec- 
essary to  say  all  of  these  things.  I  came  here  ready 
to  do  anything  in  reason,  for  I  had  wrestled  with 
my  first  anger  and  conquered  it.  I  am  aware  that  I 
have  been  much  to  blame,  but  I  believed  in  you, 
Anna,  and  was  only  led  to  doubt  by  testimony  that 
•«emed  irrefragible." 

"I  had  testimony,  too,"  she  answered,  "and  my 
reply  was,  *  I  will  ask  him.'  " 

"That  is  not  the  usual  way  of  deciding  $uch 
things,"  he  replied.  "  But  if  you  have  evidence 
against  me,  it  is  your  duty  to  prosecute." 

"Then  it  is  also  yours.  You  are  wiser  than  I  in 
the  ways  of  the  law,  and  it  is  for  you  to  begin." 

Her  calmness  disconcerted  him. 

*I  do  not  wish  to  injure  your  good  name,"  he 
"I  bad  much  rather  protect  it  if  I  can.  And 


8TirN»   TO   MADNBrifi.  201 

then,  there  are  others  to  be  thought  of  bsside  your* 
self." 

She  knew  that  he  referred  to  the  children.  She 
leaned  an  arm  on  the  mantel  marble  by  which  she 
stood,  feeling  suddenly  the  need  of  support,  and 
by  a  strange  coincidence  the  door  opened  at  that 
moment  and  the  little  ones  were  seen  peering  in, 
dressed  in  their  night  clothes. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  it  was  my  papa  !"  cried  the  elder, 
starting  to  run  toward  him.  "  It  is  my  darling  papa, 
come  back  to  us  again  !" 

The  mother  put  out  her  hands  and  drew  the  child 
against  her  skirts  before  she  reached  her  destination. 
It  was  an  intuitive  act,  and  one  that  she  knew  on  a 
moment's  reflection  she  could  not  defend.  Alice 
looked  up  into  her  mother's  face  inquiringly. 

**  You  are  not  dressed.  You  should  not  have  com* 
in  like  this  without  permission." 

"  But  I  heard  his  voice  !  And  he  has  been  gone  so 
long  !"  exclaimed  the  child,  wrapping  herself  in  tb« 
folds  of  her  mother's  dress. 

Then  she  gazed  at  the  entire  party  in  turn  and 
knew  that  something  unusual  was  the  matter. 

Ethel  came  slowly  along,  her  hands  clasped  be. 
hind  her.  Her  father  made  a  movement  to  attract 
her  to  himself,  but  she  walked  straight  to  Mordaunt 
and  paused  at  his  side. 

*  Why,  Ethel,  it  is  papa !"  cried  Alice,  ashamed 
of  the  conduct  of  her  sister. 

"Me  don't  know  'im,"  was  the  positive  reply.  "M* 
knows  Mis'r  Mordaunt.  He  tales  me  to  wide." 

"  I  think  it  is  time  I  should  go,"  said  Mordaunt, 
in  a  tone  of  distress.  "  Indeed,  I  must  say  good- 
night and  good-bye  again/' 


202 


"In  a  few  moments,"  responded  Mrs.  Darrefl. 
Then,  to  the  children  :  "  You  must  run  back  to  bed ; 
it  is  too  late  for  you  to  be  up." 

Alice  hesitated,  clinging  to  the  skirts. 

"  Mayn't  I  kiss  my  papa  once  before  I  go  ?"  she 
asked,  her  voice  full  of  tears. 

"  No,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "  You  must  obey  me. 
I  am  not  pleased  with  you  for  coming  in  without 
asking  leave." 

Dan-ell's  color  had  fled.  He  took  hold  of  the 
back  of  a  chair  to  steady  himself. 

"  Do  you  refuse  my  children  leave  to  kiss  me  ?" 
he  gasoed. 

"  I  do !"  she  answered,  defiantly. 

"  But  they  can  kiss  him  f" 

He  indicated  Mordaunt,  who  had  stooped  in  res- 
ponse to  Ethel's  tugging  fingers  and  was  receiv- 
ing the  baby  lips  on  his  cheek. 

"Yes,  if  they  wish." 

Darrell  lost  control  of  himself. 

"Then,  all  I  say  is — "  he  began. 

"  Wait  a  minute  !"  commanded  his  wife,  raising 
her  voice.  "  They  must  not  hear  you  !" 

She  disappeared  for  an  instant  with  the  little  ones. 
During  her  absence  the  husband  raved  mutely,  like 
a  man  bereft  of  reason. 

"You  have  gone  too  far  !"  he  exclaimed,  when  she 
returned.  "You  have  extinguished  all  the  mercy 
that  I  had  for  you.  I  shall  make  your  shame  public 
and  compel  you  to  surrender  the  children  you  are  no 
longer  fit  to  own." 

"  Try  it !"  Her  eyes  flashed.  "  When  a  court  says 
they  are  yours,  you  may  take  them  away.  Until 
then,  they  are  in  my  charge,  and  your  touch  shall  not 
pollute  them." 


iTTTNO    TO    MADOTHM.  203 

"I  beg  you  both  to  remember  where  you  are,** 

exclaimed  Mordaunt,  speaking  for  the  second  time. 

**I  know  where  I  am,"  retorted  Darrell.  "  I  am  in 
my  own  house,  where  I  can  say  what  I  please." 

"  In  your  own  house  ?"  echoed  the  wife. 

He  bowed  ironically. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  I  forgot.  It  was 
a  present  to  you  from  me,  I  believe.  Well,  I  will  go. 
You  and  your  lover  are  welcome  to  it." 

Mordaunt  strode  before  him,  pale  with  anger. 

"Insult  me  no  more  !"  he  cried  between  his  teeth. 
"  I  shall  leave  Auburn  to-morrow,  as  I  told  you.  I 
am  now  going  to  the  hotel.  Mrs.  Darrell,  even  to 
please  you  I  cannot  remain  longer.  My  presence  is 
evidently  only  an  irritant.  Good  night." 

Saying  this,  Mordaunt  hastily  descended  to  the 
street.  As  he  opened  the  gate  he  caught  sight  of 
George  Clarkson,  who  stood  near,  wearing  an  exult- 
ant smile. 

Then  it  flashed  upon  him  all  at  once  who  had  told 
Darrell  the  falsehoods  which  had  led  to  the  scenes 
of  the  evening.  Stung  to  sudden  madness,  Mordaunt 
struck  the  man  a  blow  that  felled  him  to  the  earth 
like  a  log  ;  and  without  pausing  to  see  whether  he 
rose  or  not,  he  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
Auburn  House. 


EBB  HUSBAND'S 

CHAPTER  XV. 
jm  BKODIE'S 


If  ever  a  man  was  uncomfortable,  Harry 
daunt  was  so  when  he  reached  his  room  that  night, 
and  dropped  into  a  chair  to  muse  for  hours  on  the 
situation  in  which  he  found  himself.  He  never 
thought  of  going  to  bed.  Sleep  was  impossible,  and 
it  would  have  been  useless  to  go  through  the  labor 
of  undressing.  He  had  hoped  to  accomplish  so 
much,  and  all  his  efforts  had  only  resulted  in  making 
everything  worse  than  it  was  before.  In  fact,  his 
interference  had  precipitated  the  very  difficulties  he 
had  wanted  to  avert.  It  was  true  that  Darrell  and 
his  wife  had  been  all  the  time  standing  on  a  powder 
mine  ;  but  their  well-meaning  friend  had  touched  it 
off  and  witnessed  the  explosion.  Reconciliation  was 
now  out  of  the  question.  Neither  of  the  interested 
parties  wished  for  it.  Each  believed  the  other  guilty 
of  all  that  was  evil.  Harsh  words  had  been  ex- 
changed which  could  never  be  forgotten.  Both 
were  bent  on  settling  their  grievances  in  that  most 
frightful  tribunal  on  earth,  a  divorce  court. 

I  have  long  held  the  belief  —  I,  who  write  these 
lines  —  that  there  should  be  some  means  of  separa- 
ting married  couples  who  have  reached  a  stage  where 
their  union  becomes  a  curse,  without  its  being  neces- 
sary to  charge  either  of  them  with  violating  all  the 
commands  of  the  decalogue,  or  all  the  ordinances  of 
a  State. 

The  bitterness  of  the  average  suit  for  annulment 
%f  marriage  is  well  known.  There  :.s  no  doabt  that 


AH  BBOPIE'S  WARNER*  ^5 

t&0  truth  is  frequently  sacrificed  to  attain  the  iesired 
end,  and  that  reputations  are  often  ruined  which 
should  be  left  untarnished.  Two  persons  can  pre- 
sent themselves,  with  little  or  no  preliminaries, 
before  a  clergyman,  justice  of  the  peace,  mayor  or 
alderman,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  are  covenanted 
in  the  most  important  of  all  bonds.  When  time  has 
passed,  and  this  pair  have  discovered  their  total  in- 
adaptibiiity  to  each  other — as  a  certain  proportion 
oi  them  are  sure  to  do — why  should  they  not  be  able 
to  go  to  some  competent  judge,  not  with  accusations 
of  infidelity,  assault,  desertion  or  drunkeness,  but 
hand  in  hand,  and  ask  to  have  the  instrument  that 
tied  them  set  aside?  "We  have  tried  marriage," 
they  might  say,  with  perfect  good  nature,  to  the 
magistrate,  "  and  we  cannot  agree  as  man  and  wife 
should.  In  case  we  are  obliged  to  continue  in  wed- 
lock, we  shall  quarrel,  we  shall  separate.  Relieve 
us,  we  pray  you,  while  we  are  still  friends."  And 
the  judge  should  answer  them,  "  Put  your  signatures 
to  this  document,  which  recites  your  petition.  In 
six  months  from  to-day,  if  you  are  in  thesame  mind, 
come  again,  and  the  writing  of  divorce  shall  be  yours." 
"  A  terrible  suggestion !"  cries  some  one  who 
reads  these  lines,  "Half  the  marriages  would  be 
annulled,  if  the  process  were  made  sc  easy  !"  But  if 
that  be  true,  my  friend,  it  is  unnecessary  to  argue 
further  in  behalf  of  my  proposition.  The  angels 
look  down  on  no  sadder  sight  than  a  home  occupied 
by  unsuitably  mated  people.  The  wife  is  familiar 
with  curses  and  frowns,  if  not  with  blows  ;  and  yet 
she  goes  on  bearing  children,  who  grow  up  In  a  hell 
tor  the  making  of  which  they  are  not  responsible. 
One  terrible  mistake  blast?  the  whole  life  of  the  hus- 
and  father.  Perhaps  (ear  of  notoriety,  or  the 


fW  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIMTB. 

teachings  of  religion,  keep  them  for  a  long  time  from 
applying  for  dissolution  of  the  painful  tie.  But  at 
last  they  stand  in  a  witness  box,  with  the  laughing 
world  in  the  spectators'  seats,  and  recall  every 
unkind  expression,  every  dastardly  deed  of  years 
The  newspapers  tell  the  story  as  amusingly  as  theii 
brightest  writers  can  record  it,  and  the  decree  is 
entered.  Even  with  this  terrible  method,  one  mar- 
riage in  every  eight  is  broken  now  in  a  State  that  has 
earned  the  title  of  the  "  Land  of  Steady  Habits." 
The  opponents  of  easier  divorce  might  as  reasonably 
oppose  the  amputation  of  a  finger  which  has  become 
infected  by  a  deadly  virus.  Soon  the  hand  will  feel 
the  effect ;  then  the  wrist ;  then  the  forearm.  The 
surgeon  will  come  and  remove  the  entire  limb,  or 
perhaps  neglect  it  until  the  patient's  system  is  so 
impregnated  that  death  ends  his  pain. 

Mordaunt  thought  for  hours,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing in  the  gloomy  horizon  that  promised  a  ray  of 
hope.  Mrs.  Darrell  would  keep  her  word  and  leave 
Auburn,  of  that  he  felt  certain.  Whatever  she  did, 
he  must  see  her  no  more.  Should  he  write  her  a 
letter  of  farewell  ?  He  felt  that  it  would  be  inadvis- 
able. The  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  absent  him- 
self  and  cease  all  connection  with  her  affairs,  for  the 
present,  at  least.  Miss  Burton  had  been  right  in  one 
thing,  if  in  nothing  else.  It  was  impossible  for  him 
to  aid  her  niece  without  exciting  suspicion.  If  this 
had  been  true  before,  it  was  doubly  so  now,  when 
the  exasperated  husband  would  probably  lose  no 
time  in  bringing  his  name  into  the  suit  he  was  about 
to  prosecute.  He  seemed  quite  hopeless  in  the  pres- 
ent emergency.  It  it  was  cowardly  to  fly,  it  was  also 
indiscreet  to  remain.  After  long  consideration,  he 
decided  he  would  go  at  once  to  Boston  and  lay  tka 


JIM   BBODIErs    TTAKNWG.  JOT 

Case  before  a  prominent  lawyer  there,  whom  he  had 
known  for  many  years.  He  looked  at  his  watch  and 
saw  that  it  was  half-past  two  o'clock.  He  began  to 
pack  his  baggage  to  divert  his  mind. 

While  engaged  in  this  occupation  several  taps 
were  heard  at  his  door,  so  low  at  first  that  he  paused 
before  answering,  in  doubt  whether  they  weie  really 
knocks  at  all.  When  they  were  repeated  a  second 
time,  slightly  louder  than  before,  he  opened  the  por- 
tal and  found  Landlord  Upham  waiting  there. 

"  'Sh  !"  said  the  landlord,  putting  his  finger  to  his 
lips  and  stepping  gingerly  over  the  threshold.  He 
shut  the  door  behind  him  without  a  particle  of  noise. 
"  Ah,  you  are  packing  up,  are  you  ?"  he  said,  in  a 
whisper,  as  he  saw  the  clothing  scattered  about.  "  I 
thought  you  would  be  getting  ready,  but  I  came  up 
to  make  sure.  Don't  you  be  any  afraid  of  me,"  he 
went  on,  noticing  Mordaunt's  astonishment.  "I'll 
stick  to  you  through  thick  an'  thin.  The  best  thing 
for  you  to  do  is  to  let  me  drive  you  over  to  War'ick 
and  git  the  train  there." 

Mordaunt  looked  the  landlord  atl  over  and  then 
surveyed  himself  in  the  mirror  to  make  sure  that  he 
was  awake. 

"  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what  you  are 
talking  about?"  he  inquired. 

"  'Sh  !"  said  Mr.  Upham,  again.  "  Don't  talk  too 
ioud.  There's  no  train  out  of  Auburn  before  eight 
o'clock  and  the  sheriff  '11  be  after  you  before  that. 
If  he  don't  find  you  here,  he'll  drive  over  to  Brixton, 
sure  as  you're  living.  If  you're  ready  in  fifteen 
minutes  I'll  put  you  and  your  bags  into  my  buggy 
and  you  can  get  the  New  Vork  express  at  War'ick, 
where  there's  a  junction  with  the  Northern.  If  they 
found  out  I  took  you,  that  won't  prove  I  und«rstwd 


208  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

the  reason  for  yer  runnin'  off.  I  don't  care  a  rap  any 
way !  'Taint  nothin'  criminal  to  give  a  man  a  ride» 
as  I  knows  on.  An'  by  Goshen,  I  like  you,  an*  I 
allus  did  like  you,  and  I  aint  goin'  to  see  you  locked 
up  right  out  of  my  house,  if  I  can  help  it ."' 

Though  all  of  this  was  skid  in  a  whisper,  in  the 
dead  silence  of  the  room  each  word  was  perfectly 
clear  to  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  But 
he  was  still  quite  as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever  as  to 
what  it  was  all  about. 

"Mr.  Upham,"  he  said,  "  I  may  be  very  dull  or 
very  stupid,  but  I  do  not  in  the  least  understand 
this.  Who  is  it  that  wants  to  lock  me  up,  and  why  ?" 

The  landlord  opened  his  mouth  very  wide. 

"Wall,  now,"  he  said,  in  an  injured  tone,  "you 
ought  to  have  more  confidence  in  me  than  that.  I 
don't  ask  you  to  admit  anything.  You  were  packin1 
when  I  came  up,  and  somebody  '11  have  to  drive  you 
over.  If  you've  got  any  one  else—" 

*'  Please  to  tell  me,"  interrupted  Mordaunt,  impa- 
tiently, "why  anybody  needs  to  drive  me  over  to 
Warwick  Junction  or  anywhere  else  ?  I  intended  to 
leave  town  on  the  eight  o'clock  train,  but  I  know  of 
nothing  that  should  cause  me  to  take  such  surrepti- 
tious methods  as  you  propose." 

The  landlord's  expression  changed  to  something 
like  admiration. 

**  You  think  it's  best  to  stay  and  have  it  out  then  ?" 
he  said. 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  me  !"  cried  Mordaunt.  "  I  tell 
you  for  the  third  time  that  I  don't  understand  you. 
Why  can't  you  answer  a  plain  question  ?  What  rea- 
«on  is  there  that  I  should  run  away  ?" 

Mr.  Upham  evidently  thought  this  the  moat 
obdurate  man  he  had  ever  encountered. 


tm  BBODIB'S  WARSTMS.  209 

*  You  wasn't  down  to  Darreil'g  house  last  night,  I 
s'ppose  ?"  he  said,  insinuatingly. 
"Yes,  I  was." 
"And  Darrell  didn't  come  home,  and  there  wa'n't 

no  row  ?  And  that  George  Clarkson,  who  used  to 
live  here,  didn't  meet  you  as  you  come  away  ?  And 
you  didn't  have  no  blows  with  him  ?" 

Mordaunt's  face  showed  that  he  comprehended  at 
last. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  is  contemptible 
enough  to  want  to  have  me  arrested  for  that  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  Wall— no,"  replied  the  landlord,  slowly.  "  He 
ain't  done  nothin'  about  it — that  is,  pussonally.  He 
ain't  likely  to  do  much  about  it  just  now,  neither,  I 
guess.  He  was  found  lyin*  where  you  left  him. 
They  carried  him  into  Mrs.  Darrell's,  and  he  ain't 
spoke  sence.  But  the  night  watch  as  found  him 
heard  about  you  bein*  there  and  as  how  it  was 
probably  you  as  hit  'im,  an'  he's  gone  off  to  git  the 
sheriff,  who  lives  six  or  eight  miles  up  the  mountain. 
An'  if  we  stand  talkin'  here  much  longer  he'll  be 
down  with  a  pair  of  irons  and  clap  you  into  the 
lock-up.  I  guess  you  understand  it  now,  an'll 
appreciate  the  need  of  steppin'  lively." 

Mordaunt  was  much  disturbed  by  this  news. 
He  had  not  thought  of  Clarkson  since  he  dealt  him 
that  sudden  blow,  and  had  had  no  idea  till  now  that 
his  hurt  could  be  of  a  serious  nature. 

"  How  did  you  hear  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"Jim  Brodie,  my  hos'ler,  come  to  wake  me  up 
an'  tell  me,"  replied  Mr.  Upham.  "You  see  Jim 
happened  to  be  along  with  the  watch  when  he  found 
Clarkson,  an'  he  helped  to  carry  him  into  the  house. 
Mrs.  Darrell  was  still  up,  and  she  and  the  gals  did 


210  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIEHB. 

all  they  could  for  him  till  Dr.  Stevens  come.  Jim 
hung  round  and  heard  the  doctor  say  somethin* 
about  concussion  of  the  brain,  an'  that  such  cases 
was  very  unsartin.  When  they  came  out  the  watch 
never  said  nothin'  to  Jim,  but  went  and  hitched  up 
his  hoss  and  started  up  the  mountain  road.  Jim 
pertended  he  was  goin'  home,  but  he  hid  till  he  see 
the  watch  start  off  toward  Dickenson's,  and  then  he 
legged  it  here  and  woke  me  up  in  a  jiffy.  'I  like 
that  feller,'  he  says,  (meanin'  you)  '  an'  I  don't  want 
no  harm  to  happen  to  him.  So,  if  you'll  rouse  him 
up,  I'll  be  harnessin'  the  mare  and  have  everything 
ready.'  I  flung  on  my  clothes  as  soon  as  I  could 
get  into  'em,  an'  here  I  am." 

This  was  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish  !  To  be  accused 
of  an  aggravated  assault,  at  least,  and  perhaps  a  mur- 
der. Mordaunt  tried  to  think  what  it  was  best  to 
do.  All  his  instincts  rebelled  agdinst  the  proposal 
to  run  away.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not 
relish  the  prospect  of  being  shut  up  in  a  miserable 
country  lock-up,  or  to  be  held  for  trial,  perhaps  dur- 
ing long  months,  while  the  question  of  Clarkson's 
recovery  lay  in  doubt.  He  decided  that  it  was  better 
on  the  whole  to  sink  his  pride  and  put  a  long  dis- 
tance between  himself  and  Auburn. 

"  If  the  man  dies,"  he  reflected,  "  I  can  come  back 
and  defend  myself.  If  he  gets  well,  he  has  got  no 
more  than  he  deserved.  I  did  not  mean  to  hurt  him 
seriously." 

Then  he  addressed  himself  to  the  landlord. 

*'  I  will  be  ready  in  five  minutes.  Here,  you  can 
take  this  bag  now,  and  I  will  be  down  as  soon  as 
possible  with  the  other  one." 

Mr.  Uphara  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  There  aint  no  time  to  wast*/'  he  said,  briefly. 


JDC  BBODIB'S  wAsarma.  211 

"We  can  jest  about  git  the  train  if  nothing  breaks 
down.  Don't  put  too  many  frills  into  yer  packing 
nor  be  too  pertikerler  to  see  that  yer  hair's  parted 
straight.  Yer  won't  be  likely  to  meet  no  ladies 
between  here  an*  War'ick.  Come  down  the  back 
stairs  and  don't  make  no  extry  noise." 

When  Mordaunt  arrived  at  the  stable  the  bay 
mare  was  ready  harnessed.  Jim  Brodie  seized  his 
valise  and  placed  it  under  the  seat  with  the  other. 
Jim  had  received  many  an  extra  dollar  from  Mor- 
daunt that  summer,  for  the  fine  care  he  had  given 
the  latter's  pet  saddle  horse,  but  he  drew  back  when 
an  attempt  was  made  to  press  a  twenty  dollar  bill 
into  his  hand. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  not  this  time,"  he  said,  posi- 
tively. "  I  wouldn't  have  you  think  I  done  this  for 
money.  You  allus  used  me  hansom',  Mr.  Mordaunt, 
and  I'd  do  a  good  deal  more'n  this  to  get  you  out  of 
a  scrape." 

"  I  know  that,  but  you  had  better  take  it,  Jim," 
was  the  pleasant  reply. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  insisted  the  man,  edging  away. 
"  Look  out  goin'  down  the  steep  hill  at  Sternville, 
Mr.  Upham.  If  they  come  here  I'll  throw  'em  off  the 
sctnt.  Good-bye,  and  luck  go  with  you  1" 


BE*  HUSmABTD'S 


CHAPTER  XVL 

OFF  THE  SCENT, 

The  mare  bounded  off  with  quick,  short  steps, 
and  the  riders  found  themselves  making  splendid 
time  on  the  road  to  the  Junction. 

"The  train  is  due  at  3.54,"  said  the  landlord,  con- 
sulting his  watch,  "but  sometimes  it's  a  little  late. 
We'll  make  it,  either  way.  Have  you  made  up  your 
mind  how  fur  you'll  go  before  you  leave  the  cars  ?" 

"Why,  to  New  York,  of  course." 

"Whew  !  You  might  as  well  stay  in  Auburn  as 
to  do  that.  More'n  likely  an  officer  '11  be  waitin' 
there  for  you.  Let  —  me  —  see.  Jason  started  for 
Dickenson's  about  two  o'clock.  He'll  git  there  at 
three  and  git  back  at  half-past  four  sure,  with  the 
carriage.  They'll  drive  to  the  hotel  and  find  you 
gone.  By  the  time  they've  got  that  through  their 
heads  it'll  be  five.  Then  they'll  go  to  Brixton, 
which'll  take  till  quarter  of  six.  That'll  catch  the 
other  train  an'  they'll  see  you're  not  there.  By  *ix 
o'clock  they'll  come  to  the  conclusion  that  you  went 
from  War'ick,  an'  they'll  git  the  operator  out  of  bed 
and  telegraph  the  New  York  police  to  nab  you.  It's 
a  close  shave  and  you'd  better  not  resk  it" 

Mordaunt  replied  that  he  saw  the  value  of  the  ad- 
vice and  would  profit  by  it. 

"  I  s'pose  you're  not  used  to  this  escapin'  business," 
pursued  the  landlord,  retrospectively,  as  he  tightened 
his  reins.  "It's  a  kind  of  science.  I've  done  con- 
sid'rable  of  it  in  my  time.  It  wouldn't  sound  well 
in  the  village,  but  I  dou  t  mind  tellin'  you,  under 


OFF  THE  S01HT.  218 

Ihe  circumstances.  Durin*  th«  war,  I  did  a  Httle 
business  on  my  own  account  that  took  me  through 
the  lines.  If  they'd  caught  me  I'd  a  swung  for 
sartin.  But  'twas  prof'table,  an'  a  man  must  take 
chances.  There's  enough  bad  things  about  wars, 
an*  if  there's  any  good  in  'em  at  all,  why  not  take 
advantage  of  it?  I  recollec'  one  mornin',  jest  like 
this  one,  when  a  picket  fired  a  shot  at  me  in  the 
woods  near  Chantilly.  I  was  crawlin'  along  in  the 
underbrush,  inch  bv  inch,  when  '  pop '  went  his  gun. 
Gosh,  how  I  did  run !  I'd  been  back  to  Auburn 
before  now,  if  I  hadn't  let  up.  You  see,  when  the 
bounties  got  pretty  large  I  enlisted  and  went  out  to 
save  my  country.  I  got  $1,200,  all  told,  that  time, 
but  I  didn't  like  the  job  after  I  got  into  it,  so  I 
cleared  out  an'  weat  North.  They  was  offerin* 
higher  yet  when  I  got  back  to  New  York,  an'  the 
fever  to  help  this  glorious  Union  came  on  me  too 
strong  to  resist.  I  signed  a  second  time  for  $1,450 
in  cold  cash,  and  was  sent  to  Tennessee.  The  moun- 
tain air  there  made  me  homesick,  and  I  soon  left 
ag'in.  By  that  time  I  had  formed  a  sort  of  habit 
an'  I  couldn't  stay  nowhere.  I  jest  kept  enlistin*  an* 
enlistin'  till  the  war  was  over." 

The  landlord  chuckled  softly  to  himself  as  he  spun 
this  yarn,  but  Mordaunt  was  too  much  occupied 
with  his  own  thoughts  to  make  more  than  the  brief- 
est reply. 

"There's  War'ick,"  said  Mr.  Upham,  as  they 
gained  the  top  of  the  hill.  He  pointed  to  a  scraggly 
village  that  could  be  seen  several  miles  ahead.  "  I'll 
drive  down  within  twenty  or  thirty  rods  of  the 
station  and  then  turn  into  a  road  in  the  woods. 
You'd  better  hang  on  till  you  hear  the  whistle,  to 
•ee  if  anything  looks  suspicious  ;  then,  if  all  is  safe. 


you  can  git  aboard  without  any  one  noticin*  me.  If 
there's  any  trouble,  I'll  be  waitin'  with  the  mare  and 
we'll  give  'em  a  chase  they  won't  forgit.  I  guess 
it's  all  right,  though.  Nobody's  passed  us  on  the 
road,  and  there  aint  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that 
Dickenson  could  have  got  to  Auburn  and  telegraphed 
round.  Stay  on  the  train  a  couple  of  hours  and 
then  leave  it  quietly  and  double  on  your  track  like 
a  fox.  I'll  never  forgive  you  if  you  let  'em  ketch 
you  after  all  I've  done." 

"  I  won't,"  replied  Mordaunt.  "  But  there's  some- 
thing you  can  do  for  me.  I  shall  want  to  hear  how 
the  man  gets  along,  and  I've  no  one  to  rely  on  but 
you.  Supposing  I  give  you  an  address  to  write  or 
telegraph  to.  You  could  manage  it  so  that  nobody 
would  suspect,  couldn't  you  ?" 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  that,"  responded  the 
landlord.  "Leave  me  a  false  name  and  I'll  send 
you  word  every  day  as  long  as  there's  need  of  it. 
You  can  write  to  me  safe  enough,  if  you  disguise 
your  hand  on  the  envelope." 

Mordaunt  thought  a  minute  and  then  took  out  his 
card-case  and  wrote  :  "  Joseph  Vassar,  care  Broad- 
way Bank,  N.  Y.  City."  Handing  this  to  Mr.  Upham, 
he  said,  "Send  your  news  there  and  I  shall  not  be 
long  receiving  it.  I  cannot  believe  the  man  is  hurt 
so  much.  It  was  just  one  quick  blow." 

"You  wouldn't  mind  tellin'  me  what  the  row  was 
about  ?"  said  Mr.  Upham,  interrogatively.  "  I've 
kep*  all  your  secrets  this  far,  and  I'm  interested  to 
understand  it  all,  you  know." 

Mordaunt  sighed  heavily. 

"  I  can't,"  he  answered.  "  The  affair  is  the  busi- 
ness of  other  people.  It  is  one  of  those  cases  where 
ftobody  was  "'.^ogetfcer  to  blame,  and  yet  where  a 


OFT  THE   tOEHT.  911 

great  deal  of  trouble  must  come.     I  wish — I  wish — 

you  wouldn't  ask  me  anything  more." 

There  were  no  suspicious-looking  people  at  War- 
wick Junction.  In  fact,  Mordaunt  was  the  only  pas- 
senger who  appeared  on  the  platform  ;  and  in  two 
minutes  from  the  time  the  engine  halted,  Mr.  Upham 
saw  the  smoke  of  it  disappearing  in  the  direction  of 
the  New  York  State  line.  He  drove  back  to  Auburn 
by  a  partially  different  road  from  the  one  on  which 
he  had  come,  and  reached  his  stable  yard  as  the  town 
clock  was  striking  four. 

Half  an  hour  earlier,  true  to  the  time-table  which 
the  landlord  had  improvised,  Sheriff  Dickenson  and 
Watchman  Jason  had  driven  up  to  the  hotel  and 
pulled  the  front  bell.  As  no  one  responded,  after  a 
delay  of  a  minute  or  more,  they  pulled  it  again, 
upon  which  Jim  Brodie  emerged  from  the  yard,  rub- 
bing his  eyes  as  if  aroused  from  the  soundest  sleep. 

"Don't  make  such  a  noise?"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  though  in  fact  beyond  the  tinkling  of  the  little 
bell  the  two  men  had  been  as  quiet  as  if  a  funeral 
fcrere  in  progress.  "The  boss  ain't  well.  He  left 
word  that  he  mustn't  be  disturbed." 

The  men  left  the  piazza  as  quietly  as  they  could 
ind  approached  the  hostler  with  a  mysterious  air. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  we're  after,"  said  Jason, 
n'lih  a  sly  wink. 

"No,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do,"  replied  the  hostler. 

"  Well,  we  want  that  Mr.  Mordaunt  who  assaulted 
;he  feller  that's  lyin'  up  to  Mrs.  Darrell's." 

Jim  stared  at  them  with  an  expression  of  utter 
stupidity. 

"  It's  a  nice  time  of  night  to  be  makin'  calls  !"  he 
growled.  *'  Aint  daylight  good  enough  for  you  ? 


216  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

You'd  had  the  whole  house  woke  up  in  a  minute 
more." 

The  sheriff  eyed  the  man  with  a  look  of  official 
pity  for  his  ignorance. 

*'  It's  my  duty  as  an  officer  to  arrest  him,"  he  said, 
impressively.  "  Dr.  Stevens  says  that  Clarkson  may 
die.  We  can't  stop  to  think  of  the  time  of  day  when 
there's  a  murderer  to  be  took.  If  you've  got  a  key, 
let  us  in,  and  we'll  take  him  off  quietly.  If  you 
haven't,  we'll  have  to  rouse  the  landlord,  that's  all. 
The  law  " — he  assumed  an  air  of  importance, — "  the 
law,  sir,  cannot  wait  the  convenience  of  any  one." 

But  Brodie,  realizing  that  each  minute  might  be 
worth  much  to  the  fugitive,  parleyed  with  the  officer 
for  some  time  longer.  He  brought  to  bear  every 
argument  he  could  think  of  to  cause  delay.  Dr.  Ste- 
vens, he  said,  was  an  old  Betty,  whose  opinion 
wasn't  worth  a  sou  markee.  Mr.  Mordaunt  was  a 
gentleman,  and  ought  not  to  be  locked  up  on  what 
was,  after  all,  only  a  guess,  as  no  one  pretended  to 
have  seen  him  strike  the  injured  party.  It  was  a 
disgrace  to  the  Auburn  House  to  have  it  entered  in 
the  night  time  on  such  an  errand.  Then,  when 
Dickenson  swept  all  of  these  considerations  aside, 
the  hostler  declared  that  he  knew  enough  of  law  to 
be  sure  that  no  one  could  be  arrested  like  this  with- 
out a  warrant,  and  that  he  should  advise  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt to  snap  his  fingers  at  the  sheriff  until  he  had 
such  a  document  in  his  possession. 

"There's  no  use  in  talking  any  more,"  said  Mr. 
Dickenson,  losing  patience  at  last.  "  I'm  going  to 
arrest  that  man,  warrant  or  no  warrant,  and  the 
sooner  you  open  the  door  the  better.  When  a  mur- 
der's been  committed,  it's  time  to  catch  the  murder 
er,  and  it  won't  do  to  stan-i  loo  long  on  a  fine  point. 


OFF   THE   SOENT.  217 

If  you  do  anything  to  hinder  us,  Jim,  I  shall  proceed 
against  you  for  interfering  with  an  officer  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty." 

This  awful  threat  seemed  to  frighten  Brodie,  for 
he  made  only  a  muttered  protest  in  reply,  and  after 
more  bungling  and  trying  of  various  keys,  he  opened 
the  door  as  requested,  and  the  officers  went  softly 
up  the  front  stairs.  It  took  them  but  a  moment  to 
discover  that  their  prey  had  flown,  and  they  re- 
turned in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  He's  gone  !"  they  cried  in  chorus,  when  they 
reached  the  piazza  again.  "  Gone,  bag  and  bag- 
gage !" 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Jim,  staring  stu- 
pidly at  them. 

"  When  did  you  see  him  last  ?"  demanded  the 
sheriff,  excitedly. 

Brodie  seemed  to  be  cudgeling  his  memory. 

"  Why,  he  was  here  at  supper,  last  night ,"  he  said, 
"  I  talked  with  him  myself.  Oh,  yes,  an'  he  started 
toward  the  station  just  before  eight  o'clock,  as  he's 
been  doin'  for  a  long  time.  P'raps,"  he  brightened, 
"  p'raps  he  took  the  train  then  !" 

Jason  shook  his  head  in  response  to  an  inquiring 
look  from  the  sheriff. 

"I  tell  you  Mrs.  Darrell  said  he  was  there  with 
her  husband  as  late  as  eleven  o'clock  !  He's  been 
back  since  and  packed  up.  You  know  what  she  said 
as  well  as  I  do,"  he  continued,  harshly.  "  Mordaunt 
left  about  eleven,  and  her  husband  a  few  minutes 
later.  And  she  told  us  all  she  heard  was  her  hus- 
band's voice  two  or  three  times,  after  he  passed  the 
gate,  calling, '  Clarkson  !  Clarkson  !  Where  are  you  7 
and  then  his  steps  walking  quickly  down  the  street. 
The  men  must  have  had  their  row  just  before  that, 


218  HER  HUSBANDS  FRIEND. 

and  th«  poor  fellow  had  good  reasons  for  not  an- 
swering when  Darrell  called  him.  Well,  Mordaunt's 
skipped,"  he  added,  to  Dickenson. 

The  sheriff  consulted  his  watch,  whispered  some- 
thing to  Jason,  and  the  twain  entered  their  buggy 
again  and  started  quickly  toward  Brixton.  They  had 
evidently  concluded  that  this  was  the  most  probable 
point  for  which  the  fugitive  would  make. 

Jim  Brodie  went  back  to  the  stable,  locked  the 
door,  and  rolled  over  on  the  floor  in  a  spasm  of 
delight.  For  fifteen  minutes  he  kept  up  this  pecu- 
liar amusement  without  cessation,  stifling  the  sound 
of  his  laughter  by  pressing  his  coat  sleeve  against 
his  mouth.  Before  his  risibles  were  fully  under  con- 
trol he  heard  the  steps  of  the  bay  mare  in  the  yard, 
and  hastily  sprang  up  to  admit  his  employer. 

"Yes,  they've  been  here,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  the 
inquiring  look  of  the  landlord.  He  rolled  the  great 
barn  doors  together  and  fastened  them,  while  both 
men  laid  their  hands  to  the  work  of  unharnessing 
the  excitable  little  beast.  "  I  threw  'em  completely 
off  the  scent,  an' they've  jest  started  pell-mell  fir 
Brixton.  Did  you  meet  anybody  ?" 

"  Not  a  soul." 

u  Then  help  me  to  get  this  horse  rubbed  down  and 
the  buggy  cleaned,  so's  Dickenson  won't  suspect  the 
team  of  being  out  when  he  returns.  And  as  soon  as 
that's  done,  you  git  into  the  house  an'  go  to  bed.  I 
told  him  you  wasn't  very  well  and  they  musn't  wake 
you  up.  Oh,  it  was  such  fun  !  I've  been  laughin' 
fit  to  kill  ever  sence.  Them  two  great  gawks,  look- 
in'  like  owls,  and  imagine  that  all  the  law  in  the 
country  lay  on  their  shoulders  !" 

And  a»  they  proceeded  with  their  work,  Jim  gav« 


Off  THE   SOB1JT.  81* 

thtf  landlord,  word  for  word,  all  the  conversation 
that  had  passed  between  him  and  the  officials. 

The  buggy  was  hastily  cleaned  and  rolled  back 
behind  others  that  had  been  washed  on  the  previous 
evening.  The  mare  was  rubbed  until  almost  the  last 
drop  of  moisture  had  left  her  hair,  and  the  harness 
was  thrown  under  a  heap  of  hay  to  gain  time. 

"  I  hope  he'll  git  away  all  right,"  said  Jim,  when 
the  work  was  finished. 

"  Never  fear,"  replied  the  landlord.  "  I'm  goin 
to  write  to  him  every  day  or  two.  He  gave  me  an 
address." 

A  quick  suspicion  came  into  Brodie's  mind.  He 
looked  at  his  employer  sharply. 

"  If  the  man  dies,  there'll  be  a  reward  offered, **  he 
suggested. 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  there  will." 

"  A  big  one,  p'raps." 

"  Mos'  likely." 

"  An*  you  could  get  it,  if  you  liked." 

"  I  s'pose  I  could." 

"  An*  would  you  ?" 

The  landlord  choked  down  a  lump  that  had  risen 
to  his  throat. 

"No,  Jim,  not  if  it  was  ten  million  dollars.  I 
like  money,  but  not  well  enough  to  git  it  that  way. 
I'm  true  blue  in  this,  so  help  me !" 

The  hostler  eyed  him  searchingly. 

"  This  man  Mordaunt  ain't  nothin'  to  me,"  he 
«aid  slowly.  "  He's  only  a  gen'leman  what's  treated 
me  white.  But  do  you  know  what  *d  happen  if  you 
were  to  help  the  perlice  to  git  him?" 

Mr.  Upham  shook  his  head  in  the  negative. 

"  Why,  some  rnornin'  you'd  be  found  dead  witk  a 
dung-fork  stickin'  in  you  V 


220  HER  HUSBAND'S 

Tht  landlord  wat  not  at  all  fluttered  by  ihtt  ft- 

markable  assertion. 

44  An*  so  I  ought,  Jim  ;  so  I  ought,"  he  said  "  I've 
never  done  anything  as  mean  as  that,  an*  I'm  not 
goin'  to  commence  now  I'm  fifty  years  old,  Durin1 
the  war,  when  the  gov'ment  was  a-runnin*  them 
pnntin'  machines,  and  turnin*  out  greenbacks  by 
the  bushel  to  pass  round,  I  might  have  got  a  few 
of  'em  in  a  way  that  wa'n't  ginerally  approved  of 
But  I  aint  takin'  no  blood  money,  an*  you  needn't 
fret  at  all  about  that." 

**  I  won't  fret  about  it !"  said  Jim,  quite  satisfied. 
u  Put  it  there  !" 

He  held  out  his  brawny  hand,  which  the  landlord 
shook  warmly.  Then  Mr.  Upham  went  into  the 
house  and  to  bed,  according  to  the  programme  that 
had  been  arranged. 

It  was  after  seven  o'clock  when  the  representatives 
of  the  majesty  of  the  law  stopped  their  carriage  again 
in  front  of  the  Auburn  house.  The  proprietor  was 
taking  breakfast  when  they  found  him,  and  he  wore 
about  the  eyes  the  look  of  a  man  who  is  not  well. 

**I  hear  one  of  your  boarders  skipped  in  the 
night,"  said  Dickenson,  after  the  ordinary  salutations 
had  passed  between  the  three. 

M  One  of  my  boarders  !" 

"  Yes,  that  Mr.  Mordaunt.  Hadn't  you  heard  ? 
He  struck  a  man  last  night,  who'll  probably  die." 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  the  landlord,  in  ap- 
parently profound  astonishment.  "He  owed  me  a 
week's  board  to-morrow.  But  he'll  fend  it,"  he 
added,  reflectively.  "I  don't  think  he'd  cheat  me 
out  of  a  few  dollars  like  that." 

It  was  Mr.  Jason's  turn  to  speak. 


err  THB  SCENT.  S21 

"Was  any  of  your  teams  out  last  night,  Mf. 
Upham?" 

"  I've  jest  got  up,"  was  the  evasive  reply.  "  Bill/ 
— this  to  a  large  boy  who  was  lounging  through  the 
room — "tell  Jim  to  come  here." 

Brodie  came  in  his  own  good  time  and  bowed  to 
his  employer  and  the  visitors. 

"  Did  you  catch  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  but  we  know  where  he's  gone,  and  he'll  be 
caught  safe  enough,"  replied  Dickenson. 

"  Did  anybody  hire  any  of  our  teams  last  night r>> 
asked  the  landlord. 

"  No,"  said  Brodie,  promptly. 

"  Or  this  mornin'  ?"  inquired  Jason. 

"  No,  I  aint  let  a  team  since  yisterday." 

Then  the  landlord  asked  to  be  told  the  whole 
story,  and  the  officers,  rather  proud  of  the  part  they 
had  taken  in  it,  repeated  it  to  him,  with  all  their 
surmises  and  theories  thrown  in. 

"  Where's  Darrell  ?"  asked  Mr.  Upham,  when  they 
had  exhausted  the  subject. 

"Well,  we  don't  know.  He  came  to  town  in  a 
buggy  with  this  man  Clarkson  and  must  have  drove 
off  alone.  It's  a  devilish  queer  affair,  take  it  all 
together." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  wa'n't  him  what  hit  Clark- 
son  ?" 

To  answer  this  question  they  told  him  all  Mrs. 
Darrell  had  said,  which  seemed  to  dispose  of  that 
theory  ;  and  besides  they  argued,  Mordaunt's  flight 
was  in  itself  presumptive  evidence  against  him.  As 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  learned  at  the  hotel, 
the  officers  soon  after  took  their  departure.  As  soon 
as  his  breakfast  was  ended,  Landlord  Upham 
addressed  himself  to  Brodie. 


292  BEK  HUSBAHD'S  FRIKND. 

**  I'm  goin*  down  to  call  on  Mrs.  Darrell,"  said  he 
rery  profoundly.  "I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
this  whole  thing,  but  I've  got  an  idea  she  wouldn't 
\ike  to  do  Mr.  Mordaunt  any  harm.  I'm  jest  goin* 
to  tell  her  as  gently  as  I  can  that  she's  be'n  talkin* 
a  leetle  too  much." 

When  the  landlord  reached  the  Darrell  place,  he 
met  Dr.  Stevens  at  the  gate. 

"  He's  not  recovered  consciousness  yet,"  said  the 
doctor,  in  response  to  the  inquiring  look  which 
greeftd  him.  "  I  have  left  orders  for  everything  to 
be  kept  quiet,  but  you  are  a  sensible  man  and  can 
go  in  if  you  like." 

Mrs.  Darrell  welcomed  the  landlord  sadly,  and 
readily  understood  by  the  motion  of  his  head  toward 
an  inner  door  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  her  alone. 

"Pretty  dangerous,  ain't  he?"  he  asked,  when  she 
had  accompanied  him  to  the  parlor. 

She  immediately  assented. 

"  You  know  who  they  suspect  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  But  it  was  a  very  faint  yes  in- 
deed. 

"  He's  got  away  from  the  officers  this  time  an'  I 
don't  think  they'll  ketch  him,  but  ft  they  do  it's  on 
your  evidence  they'll  have  to  rely  to  convict  him." 

She  looked  thoroughly  frightened. 

44  On  mine  !" 

"  Yes,  you've  given  'em  all  the  points  they've  got 
so  fur.  You've  told  'em  that  he  was  here  and  that 
when  your  husband  left  he  hollered  '  Clarkson,'  and 
there  wa'n't  no  answer.  Now,  you  wouldn't  like  to 
have  any  harm  happen  to  Mr.  Mordaunt,  I'm  sure.1' 

"Oh,  no,  no  !"  she  cried,  faintly. 

"  Then  take  a  little  advice  from  an  old  man  what's 
known  you  ever  sence  you  wa'n't  big  enough  to 


APPEALING   TO   THE    LAW.  223 

walk.  Put  a  patent  curb  bit  on  your  tongue,  an* 
keep  it  there.  See  that  all  your  girths  are  pulled 
up  tight  and  don't  let  the  reins  git  crossed.  Double 
the  hold-back  straps  and  lay  right  back  in  the 
breechin*.  They'll  be  after  you — a  dozen  of  'em — 
before  they  git  through.  Don't  let  any  of  'em  make 
you  lose  your  head  ag'in." 

After  this  odd  combination  of  good  advice  and 
stable  lore,  perfectly  intelligible,  however,  to  the 
woman  who  heard  it,  Mr.  Upham  went  into  the 
other  room  and  took  a  look  at  Clarkson, 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

APPEALING    TO    THE   LAW. 

Darrell  returned  to  Boston  and  went  to  his  room 
in  anything  but  a  happy  frame  of  mind.  He 
resolved  not  to  visit  Miss  Casson  for  a  few  days,  for 
he  knew  that  if  he  did  so  he  could  not  very  well 
avoid  telling  her  the  particulars  of  his  visit  to 
Auburn.  But  habit  is  a  thing  which  controls  the 
best  of  us.  For  many  years  he  had  gone  almost 
daily  to  her  house,  when  in  the  city,  and  it  is  not 
strange  that  he  found  himself  unable  to  keep  away, 
now  that  he  had  so  much  on  his  mind.  As  soon  as 
the  sun  had  set  he  went  to  see  her,  thinking  that  he 
might  as  well  undergo  what  was  before  him  now  as 
later. 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  everything,  Laura,"  he 
said,  in  answer  to  the  mute  inquiry  that  shone  from 


224:  HBB  HUSBANDS 


her  eye*.     "  We  have  had  words — high  onac, 
and  she  has  dared  me  to  do  my  worst." 

Miss  Casson  had  schooled  herself  to  suppress  her 
emotions,  but  her  delight  at  this  news  was  so  great 
that  she  well  nigh  broke  the  barriers.  She  suc- 
ceeded, however,  in  restraining  herself,  and  waited 
to  hear  the  whole  of  his  story,  which  he  told  circum- 
stantially, concealing  nothing. 

"  What  shall  you  do  ?"  she  asked,  as  he  con- 
cluded. 

"  Consult  a  lawyer,  and  if  he  advises  it,  apply  for 
a  divorce  at  once." 

*'  Is  not  the  evidence  rather  weak  ?" 

She  thought  it  good  policy  not  to  appear  too  much 
in  favor  of  his  scheme. 

"  Not  if  Clarkson  can  be  relied  upon.  I  wonder 
what  became  of  him  after  I  went  into  the  house. 
Probably  he  got  piqued  at  having  to  wait  so  long. 
He  is  a  queer  fellow.  How  long  have  you  known 
him  ?" 

"Only  this  summer.** 

"  He  would  not — you  do  not  think  he  would 
falsify  ?"  said  Darrell,  hesitatingly. 

She  studied  his  face  with  an  inward  alarm,  and 
asked  : 

"  What  could  be  his  motive  ?" 

"  What  motive  could  he  have  in  getting  involved 
in  the  matter  at  all  ?"  Darrell  responded,  thought- 
fully. "  I  do  not  think  he  likes  Mordaunt,  but  that 
would  hardly  explain  the  pains  he  has  taken." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  a  strong  sense  of  justice,"  sug- 
gested Miss  Cass«n.  "  He  is,  like  ourselves,  a  Com- 
munist, and  his  sympathies  would  naturally  be  on 
your  side.  A  greater  motive  should  not  be  needed 
than  to  do  what  is  right.  If  you  begin  to  suspect  a 


APPEALING  TO  THE  LAW.  225 

man  like  him,  you  may  end  In  suspecting  others  of 
your  friends  ;  perhaps  even  me." 

He  shook  his  head  at  that,  and  seemed  lost  in 
thought  for  several  moments. 

'*  I  had  no  idea  how  disagreeable  such  things  are." 
he  said,  despondently,  at  last.  "Last  night  was 
the  first  time  I  ever  spoke  harshly  to  my  wife.  I 
wish  I  could  have  escaped  that.  It  leaves  a  bad 
taste  in  my  mouth." 

Miss  Casson  made  a  gesture  of  Impatience. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "  that  you  take  this 
too  much  to  heart.  A  wife  who  has  been  unfaithful 
deserves  no  such  exhibition  of  tenderness.  I  cannot 
say  half  I  think,  because  I  see  you  are  inclined  to 
doubt  motives.  But  the  woman  who  has  deceived 
you  once  may  have  done  so  many  times  before.'' 

Darrell  straightened  himself  up  in  his  chair,  as  he 
answered  : 

"  No,  Laura,  I  do  not — cannot — believe  that.  I 
have  neglected  her.  Mordaunt  came  with  his 
smooth  tongue  and  sympathetic  ways,  and  she  fell  a 
victim.  I  am  very  much  to  blame — very  much 
Indeed." 

"  I  should  not  think  you  would  talk  of  a  prosecu- 
tion, if  that  is  your  feeling,"  she  replied,  coldly. 

**  Ah  !"  said  he.  "  But  it  is  necessary."  He 
repeated  the  expression  he  had  used  to  her  before. 
"  There  is  but  one  course  open  to  a  man  of  honor." 

She  saw  plainly  that  it  would  be  necessary  to 
urge  him  to  his  work,  before  his  mind  had  time  to 
change. 

M  If  you  wish  my  advice,"  she  said,  "  you  will 
either  proceed  in  this  matter  without  the  least  delay, 
5>r  give  it  up  altogether." 

**  Give  it  up  !    I  can't  give  it  up  !"  he  exclaimed, 


W6  HEB  HUSBAKD'S  FBIEKD. 

"Then  you  must  go  to  your  lawyer  to-morrow, 
and  have  the  papers  served  as  soon  as  possible. 
Your  witness  is  ready  now,  and  your  facts  are  easily 
obtainable.  I  should  think,  however  ttat  your  wife 
would  prefer  to  have  the  affair  settled  without  any 
more  publicity  than  is  necessary,  when  she  comes  to 
think  it  over." 

"  She  will  not,"  he  replied,  sadly.  "  She  is  deter- 
mined to  'vindicate  her  character,' as  she  calls  it. 
And,  by  heavens,  I  don't  wonder  at  it  !  It  is  a  terri- 
ble thing  for  a  woman  to  go  out  of  a  court-room 
branded  as  an  adulteress.  It  would  be  better  if  the 
grave  closed  over  her !"  Then  he  stopped,  the 
thought  chilling  him.  "  She  has  to  think  of  her 
children." 

The  relentless  woman  could  not  afford  to  allow 
him  to  dwell  on  this  subject. 

"  That  is  an  old  excuse  for  clemency,"  she  said. 
"  She  should  have  thought  of  them  before." 

"  Oh,  Anna  does  not  ask  clemency,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "  She  defied  me  to  my  face." 

A  smile,  a  most  ironical  smile,  rested  on  Miss 
Casson's  mouth. 

*•  Edmund,"  she  said,  meaningly,  "  you  have  the 
most  innocent  conceptions  for  a  man  who  should 
be  somewhat  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world.  I 
fear  to  say  as  much  to  you  as  I  ought,  because  you 
know  I  have  always  regarded  this  marriage  as 
injurious  to  you,  and  have  felt  that  you  should  hava 
broken  it  off  at  all  hazards  in  its  earlier  days.  I 
knew  that  some  such  denouement  as  this  would  bo 
the  inevitable  result  of  the  course  you  were  pursuing. 
Then  there  is  another  thing  for  me  to  consider." 
Her  expression  grew  harder.  "  If  I  understand  you 
rightly,  she  threatens  to  bring  me  into  the  affair, 


APPEALING  TO  TRB  LAW.  287 

with  what  insinuations  I  do  not  care  to  guess.  In 
common  justice  to  me  you  will  have  to  present  your 
case  in  all  its  strength,  or  my  devotion  to  your 
highest  interest  will  be  misrepresented  shamefully  to 
the  world.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  hatred  of  a 
woman  who  finds  herself  detected  and  exposed.  I 
have  a  right  to  ask  of  you  at  least  as  much  protec- 
tion as  she  who  has  disgraced  you,  and  now  pro- 
poses to  turn  your  better  side  toward  the  public 
marked  with  her  own  wicked  imputations  !" 

Darrell  listened  and  seemed  convinced. 

"  Yes,  Laura,"  he  said,  simply. 

"  You  must  take  Clarkson  to  a  notary  before  he  is 
put  under  other  influences,"  she  proceeded,  earn- 
estly. "  Have  his  story  taken  down  and  sworn  to. 
This  is  not  a  case  for  soft  measures.  If  she  insists 
that  there  shall  be  a  fight,  see  that  she  is  met  with 
suitable  weapons.  If  you  prefer  to  give  it  up,  to 
forgive  her,  and  go  back  to  your  old  life,  now  is 
your  time." 

Any  other  man  would  have  noticed  the  sarcasm 
with  which  she  uttered  these  words,  but  he  did  not 
seem  to. 

"  I  can't  give  it  up  !"  he  said  again.  "  No,  I  must 
go  on.  I  will  see  a  lawyer  to-morrow." 

But  the  next  morning,  when  he  dragged  himself 
unwillingly  to  his  attorney's  office,  and  began  to  tell 
his  story,  the  legal  gentleman  stopped  him  to 
inquire  whether  he  had  read  the  morning  papers. 
On  learning  that  he  had  not,  he  thrust  into  his 
hands  a  column  or  more  headed,  "  Mysterious 
Affair  at  Auburn." 

The  correspondent  who  "  covered  "  the  Western 
district,  had  made  up  a  very  readable  story  out  of 
the  assault  on  Clarkson,  for  which  he  was  highly 


M8  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIBWD. 

commended  by  his  employers  in  a  letter  which 
accompanied  their  next  check.  His  dispatch 
detailed  the  finding  of  Clarkson,  lying  unconscious 
in  front  of  the  Darrell  house,  and  gave  an  interview 
with  Dr.  Stevens,  in  which  the  opinion  was  expressed 
that  his  chance  of  life  was  precarious.  The  article 
further  stated  that  Mrs.  Darrell  positively  refused 
to  be  interviewed,  but  made  up  for  this  by  a  graphic 
narrative  of  the  adventures  of  Messrs.  Dickenson 
and  Jason,  who  had  no  scruples  whatever  about 
talking  freely.  A  good  many  paragraphs  beginning 
"It  is  said,"  and  "  Our  correspondent  learns  from  a 
reliable  source,"  helped  out  the  dispatch,  which  was 
adroitly  worded  to  evade  suits  for  libel,  in  case  the 
matter  that  it  contained  should  prove  incorrect. 
Darrell  read  the  story  through,  and  then  turned  to 
the  attorney.  The  thorough  astonishment  that  he 
felt  was  visible  in  his  face. 

"  A  devilish  queer  thing,  eh  ?"  said  the  lawyer. 

"  Very,"  replied  Darrell.  "  And  very  disagree- 
able," he  added.  "  If  there's  anything  I  hate  it  is 
this  sort  of  notoriety.  It  is  intensely  unpleasant." 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  might  be 
unpleasant  for  his  client,  but  it  was  merely  business 
for  him. 

In  response  to  questions,  Darrell  told  the  lawyer 
his  story,  of  which  minutes  were  made  in  an  exas- 
perating way,  in  a  book  which  adorned  the  desk. 

"  Clarkson  went  with  you  of  his  own  accord  ?"  said 
the  attorney,  in  recapitulation.  "  Did  he  go — what 
would  you  say — willingly  ?" 

I  should  say  eagerly,  Mr.  Arnold,"  was  the  reply 

"  Urnph  !     Why  should  he  have  been  eager  ?" 

"  i  have  no  idea," 


APPEALING  TO  THE   LAW.  9ftt 

Mr.  Arnold  wrote  this  down  with  some  reflections 
of  his  own,  and  then  proceeded  with  his  torture. 

"  And  he  lagged  behind  when  you  heard  Mordaunt 
coming  out  of  the  house  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  that  ?** 

"  I  told  him  I  wanted  to  speak  with  Mordaunl  first 
alone." 

"  Then  he  did  not  seem  to  wish  to  avoid  meeting 
him  ?" 

"  No." 

"  You  were  in  the  house  with  your  wife  and 
Mordaunt  not  over  twenty  minutes,  you  think  ?" 

"  About  that." 

"  Mordaunt  left  first  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  went  away  not  more  than  five  minutes 
later  ?"  continued  the  lawyer,  consulting  his  notes. 

Darrell  assented. 

"  And  when  you  came  out  you  called  Clarkson's 
name  several  times,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  some 
distance,  and  there  was  no  response." 

"  Exactly." 

"  Within  that  five  minutes,  then,  if  Mordaunt  is 
the  man  who  assaulted  him,  the  blow  must  have  been 
struck.  Now,  what  was  the  motive  ?" 

Darrell  said  he  could  not  answer  that  question. 

"/can,"  said  Mr.  Arnold  impressively.  "  It  WAS 
jealousy.  I  have  been  in  business  for  thirty  years, 
and  I  tell  you  there  could  have  been  no  other  reason. 
Both  of  these  men  are  in  love  with  your  wife." 

Darrell  felt  a  rising  indignation.  He  found  it 
impossible  not  to  experience  a  sensation  of  personal 
affront,  notwithstanding  all  that  had  happened,  at 
any  charge  which  concerned  his  wife's  honor.  He 


&30  HER   HUSBAND'S   FRIE1TO. 

had  come  to  institute  preliminary  proceedings  for  • 
divorce,  but  he  wanted  some  kind  of  bounds  set. 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  the  lawyer,  confidently. 
"  One  of  these  men  was  jealous  of  the  other.  There 
were  quick  words  and  quick  blows.  I  should  say 
that  Mordaunt  had  supplanted  Clarkson  in  your 
wife's  good  graces,  and — " 

Darrell  had  a  violent  pain  in  the  head. 

"  Mr.  Arnold,"  he  interrupted,  "  if  you  think  such 
things  as  that,  don't  say  them.  I  am  not  here  to 
listen  to  your  surmises.  I  want  a  divorce  in  the 
easiest,  quickest  way." 

The  lawyer  looked  at  him,  as  the  Pyramids 
must  have  looked  down  upon  Napoleon,  with  all  his 
thirty  years  of  experience  in  his  gaze. 

"  I  can  serve  the  papers,"  he  said,  "  but  while  your 
main  witness  lies  in  his  present  condition,  we  can  do 
nothing  more.  If  he  should  die,  there  would  be  very 
little  left  to  work  on." 

"  Oh,  Clarkson  is  liable  to  recover  consciousness 
at  any  moment,"  was  the  impatient  reply.  "  The 
best  thing  to  do,  it  seems  to  me,  is  to  have  one  of 
your  men  go  to  Auburn  without  delay,  and  take  his 
deposition,  as  soon  as  he  is  able  to  speak." 

"  Very  well.     I  will  have  that  done." 

"  And  after  that,  all  we  can  do  is  to  wait?" 

"That  is  all.  Only,"  Mr.  Arnold  paused,  "it 
would  be  as  well,  you  know,  to  be  circumspect  in 
your  movements  for  a  while.  I  wouldn't  visit  Miss 
— "  he  turned  to  his  notes — "  Miss  Casson  any  more 
at  present." 

The  client  could  not  help  paling  a  little  under  the 
searching  gaze  of  the  lawyer. 

"  Why,  we  are  nothing  whatever  but  business  part* 
ners.  We  own  a  magazine  together  " 


APPEALING   TO  THE   LAW.  231 

"Certainly.  I  understand.  But — you  had  best 
keep  away." 

Darrell  broke  out  hotly  : 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort  !  It  would  be  in 
itself  a  suspicious  thing,  after  all  these  years.  I  shall 
go  there  as  usual,  and  people  can  say  what  they 
like  !" 

Mr.  Arnold  smiled  grimly. 

"  We  have  a  proverb,"  he  said,  "  that '  the  man  who 
is  his  own  lawyer  has  a  fool  for  a  client.'  There  is 
a  still  more  foolish  man,  the  one  who  hires  a  lawyer 
to  advise  him,  and  then  refuses  to  take  the  advice." 

"  I  have  paid  a  doctor  before  now  to  prescribe 
medicine  and  then  thrown  it  away,"  responded  Dar- 
rell, more  good-naturedly.  "  Miss  Casson's  char- 
acter is  too  high  for  their  shafts." 

"  Have  your  own  way,"  was  the  lawyer's  reply. 
"  But  don't  forget  that  I  told  you." 

During  the  four-and-twenty  hours  which  elapsed 
after  the  inanimate  body  of  George  Clarkson  was 
found  near  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Darrell 
house,  several  officers  of  the  law,  besides  Sheriff 
Dickenson  and  Watchman  Jason,  had  heard  of  the 
matter  and  interested  themselves  in  it.  One  of  these, 
a  man  named  Barnett,  was  soon  struck  with  a  phase 
of  the  case  which  had  escaped  the  others.  Nobody 
suspected  Darrell  himself  of  having  done  the  deed. 
To  the  mind  of  Mr.  Barnett  there  were  strong  prob- 
abilities pointing  in  that  direction.  Darrell  and 
Clarkson  had  come  to  Auburn  together  in  a  buggy 
— on  that  all  information  seemed  to  agree.  One  of 
them  had  left  town  hastily  without  the  other,  a  very 
odd  fact  except  on  the  theory  that  the  officer  was 
evolving.  Why  had  no  suspicion  rested  upon  this 


232 


man?  Simply  because  Mrs.  Darrell  had  said  that 
she  heard  him  calling  Clarkson's  name  after  he  left 
the  house,  and  did  not  hear  any  reply.  Now  this, 
according  to  Barnett,  was  utter  nonsense.  If  Mrs. 
Darrell  did  actually  hear  Clarkson's  name  called,  as 
she  claimed,  that  did  not  prove  that  her  husband 
had  not  had  words  with  him  and  struck  him.  It 
was  possible,  also,  that  the  wife  had  invented  the 
story  for  the  purpose  of  shielding  her  husband,  as 
was  quite  natural ;  or  it  was  easy  to  suppose  that, 
after  having  struck  the  man,  Darrell  had  run  back 
to  tell  his  wife  what  she  was  to  say  in  case  she  was 
interrogated.  When  the  watchman  and  Jim  Brodie 
found  the  body,  long  after  her  husband  left,  she  was 
still  up  and  dressed. 

Mr.  Barnett  decided  that  he  was  justified  in  ask- 
ing the  court  for  a  warrant,  and  while  the  New  York 
police  were  searching,  aided  by  Dickenson,  who  had 
gone  on  for  the  purpose,  he  hastened  to  Boston,  and 
laid  his  hands  on  Darrell  soon  after  he  entered  his 
office  that  morning  after  his  talk  with  Lawyer 
Arnold. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

DARRELL    UNDER   ARREST. 

*'I  have  a  warrant  for  your  arrest  on  the  charge  ot 
murder,"  said  Mr.  Barnett,  in  response  to  Darrell's 
look  of  astonishment. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  feeling  the  earth  reeling 


OAKRELL  UNDER  ARBEST.  283 

around  him.  At  first  he  never  thought  of  Clarkaon 
or  the  Auburn  affair  at  all. 

"  For  the  murder  of  George  Clarkson,"  continued 
Mr.  Barnett.  "  You  went  from  Boston  to  Auburn 
night  before  last ;  you  returned  alone." 

Darrell  breathed  easier  when  he  found  what  the 
accusation  was.  But  it  immediately  occurred  to  him 
what  his  lawyer  had  said  about  the  effect  of  the 
death  of  his  witness,  and  he  grew  faint  again. 

"  When  did  he  die  ?"  he  asked. 

"  This  morning,"  replied  Barnett,  believing  every- 
thing justifiable  that  might  lead  to  the  detection  of 
crime.  "  He  rallied  at  the  end,"  he  added,  narrowly 
watching  the  effect  of  his  words,  "  and  told  the  nann 
of  his  murderer!" 

It  was  impossible  not  to  be  affected  by  this  infotv 
mation,  and  Darrell  started  violently. 

"  Who  was  it  ?"  he  exclaimed. 

"You!" 

The  prisoner  seemed  dazed  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  drew  himself  up  and  looked  at  his  captor  with  an 
air  of  supreme  contempt. 

"  You  see  this  warrant,"  said  Barnett,  feeling  the 
need  of  bolstering  up  his  statement,  though  all  the 
Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  stood,  figuratively, 
at  his  back.  "  It  would  be  better  for  you  not  to 
deny  the  thing.  Probably,"  he  suggested,  "you  did 
not  intend  to  strike  him  so  hard  ?" 

Darrell  found  his  tongue  at  last. 

"  There  must  be  decent  men  on  your  force,"  he 
said,  cuttingly.  "  They  might  at  least  have  sent  one 
of  them  for  me.  As  you  have  a  warrant  that  seems 
to  be  regular,  I  shall  go  with  you  without  the  least 
trcuule  ;  but  if  you  insult  me  again  I  will  not  be> 
responsible  for  myself.  George  Clarkson  never  said 


234  HEK  HUSBAND'S  FBJEITD. 

that  I  touched  him,  and  you  know  it  as  you  stand 

there  !" 

Mr.  Barnett  drew  out  a  pair  of  handcuffs  as  his 
answer. 

"  I  shall  have  to  put  these  on  you,"  he  said.  "  I 
could  have  taken  you  without  them  had  you  been 
civil." 

Darrell  held  out  his  wrists. 

"  Put  them  on.  Put  others  on  my  ankles,  if  you 
like,  but  do  me  the  favor  to  talk  to  me  as  little  as  is 
necessary."  He  touched  a  bell  with  his  elbow. 
"  Tell  Parker  to  come  here,"  he  said  to  a  boy  who 
answered  the  summons. 

Mr.  Parker  was  general  manager  of  the  manufac- 
tory, and  his  surprise  at  seeing  Darrell  in  irons  was 
pronounced. 

"You  will  please  step  over  to  Mr.  Arnold's  office, 
and  tell  him  that  I  have  been  arrested  and  taken  to 
Auburn,"  said  Darrell,  quietly.  "  I  want  him  to 
come  there  at  once  ; — to  catch  the  eleven  o'clock 
train,  if  he  can.  Shall  we  go  on  the  Fitchburg  ?"  he 
asked  of  Barnett. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  responded  the  officer, 
doggedly.  "  I  am  going  to  do  as  you  requested." 

Darrell  bit  his  lips. 

"  Never  mind.  Give  him  my  message,"  he  said  to 
Parker,  who  disappeared  with  celerity.  "  If  you 
have  a  dollar's  worth  of  property  I  will  make  it  cost 
you  dear  for  this,"  he  continued,  to  Barnett.  "  False 
arrests  come  high  sometimes." 

The  officer,  who  had  a  snug  sum  laid  by  in  real 
estate,  felt  a  cold  chill  creeping  along  his  spine. 
He  wondered  if  he  had  been  too  precipitate. 

"You  won't  gain  anything  by  threatening  me," 
he  blustered.  "  [  have  to  do  my  duty.  That  war- 


UNDER   ARREST.  236 


tant,"  he   touched   his   pocket,  "is   issued    by   the 
court,  and  I  must  obey  it." 

He  called  a  carriage,  and  entered  it  with  his 
prisoner.  Twenty  minutes  later  they  rolled  out  of 
the  Fitchburg  station,  bound  for  Auburn.  Mr. 
Arnold  succeeded  in  boarding  the  same  train,  and 
Mr.  Barnett,  who  had  now  become  quite  uneasy, 
willingly  consented  to  allow  him  to  consult  with  his 
client. 

About  eight  o'clock  that  morning  George  Clark- 
son  had  found  himself  staring  at  the  curtains  of 
his  bed,  after  a  long  blank  of  which  he  remembered 
nothing.  Slowly  it  came  back  to  him  that  he  had 
been  struck  a  heavy  blow  by  Harold  Mordaunt,  and 
had  felt  himself  falling  to  the  earth.  He  recalled  it 
all  quite  clearly.  The  ride  with  the  taciturn  hus- 
band, the  approach  to  the  house,  the  sound  of  Mor- 
daunt's  voice,  the  request  of  Darrell  that  he  might 
meet  him  alone,  the  half  audible  conversation 
between  them,  the  unexpected  appearance  of  the  wife 
upon  the  scene,  the  vanishing  of  the  entire  party 
within  doors,  the  long  wait,  the  re-appearance  of 
Mordaunt,  the  recognition  —  and  the  blow. 

He  wondered  how  long  he  had  been  ill.  He  knew 
that  impressions  were  not  to  be  relied  upon  in  such 
cases,  and  he  fell  to  imagining  that  weeks  or  possibly 
months  had  passed.  Soon  he  began  to  think  of 
Laura  Casson,  in  whose  behalf  he  had  taken  the  risk 
which  led  to  his  present  situation.  When  they  came 
to  interrogate  him,  as  they  would  certainly  do,  he 
tried  to  think  what  replies  would  best  serve  the 
errand  he  had  set  about. 

He  knew  that  Miss  Casson  wished  to  convince 
Darrell  of  his  wife's  guilt.  Why  ?  Perhaps  from 


23(5  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

pique  at  something,  perhaps  from  revenge.  But 
what  was  it  to  him  what  her  reasons  were  ?  He  had 
set  out  to  do  her  bidding,  like  some  knight  of  old, 
caring  only  that  he  should  be  sure  of  his  reward  at 
the  end.  This  affair  of  his  with  Mordaunt  had  com- 
plicated matters.  Clarkson  was  an  avowed  oppo- 
nent of  the  force  of  law.  His  grievance  must  be 
settled  by  himself  if  at  all.  Since  it  could  not  help 
Miss  Casson's  plan,  there  was  no  need  of  bringing 
his  enemy's  name  into  the  matter.  He  decided  as 
he  lay  there  that  in  case  Mordaunt  was  suspected,  he 
would  deny  that  he  was  his  assailant,  and  disavow 
his  knowledge  of  the  man  if  no  particular  person 
was  accused. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reveries  he  heard  the  soft 
opening  of  a  door  and  the  whispering  of  voices.  He 
deemed  it  the  part  of  wisdom  to  feign  unconscious- 
ness a  little  longer. 

The  first  comer  was  the  nurse  who  had  been 
engaged  to  care  for  him  at  night.  After  a  hasty 
look  at  the  patient,  the  nurse  signified  that  the  other 
visitors  could  enter.  They  were  Mrs.  Darrell  and 
Landlord  Upham. 

It  was  the  third  visit  of  the  landlord.  He  had 
received  that  morning  a  letter  from  Mordaunt,  who 
was  resting  in  a  little  village  in  the  Adironacks,  and 
was  anxious  for  the  latest  information  from 
Auburn. 

"  He  has  lain  just  as  you  see  him,"  said  Mrs.  Dar- 
rel,  in  very  low  tones.  "  Dr.  Stevens  said  last  night 
when  he  left,  that  to-day  would  decide  whether  he 
would  recover  or  not.  If  he  does  not  have  his  senses 
before  night,  the  probability  is  that  he  never  will." 

Clarkson  found  some  difficulty  in  restraining  him- 
self when  he  heard  these  words.  Nothing  but  the 


DABBELL  UNDER   ARKE8Y.  287 

semi-darkness  of  the  room  prevents  his  countenance 
from  betraying  him.  Had  he,  then,  been  so  near  to 
death  ?  It  was  very  strange  that  it  was  Mrs.  Dar- 
rell's  voice.  To  whom  could  she  be  speaking  ? 

"  It  is  hard  for  you  to  have  him  here,"  replied  Mr. 
Upham.  "  If  he  gets  well  enough  to  move  you 
must  not  continue  to  undergo  the  strain.  I  never 
saw  you  looking  so  pale  and  ill." 

"  Oh,  no,"  was  the  rejoinder,  "  he  shall  stay  here 
till  he  is  quite  ready  to  travel,  or,"  her  tone  sank 
still  lower,  "  till  the  end.  I  was  ill  before  this  hap- 
pened. In  fact  I  have  not  felt  well  for  more  than  a 
month.  I  would  not  have  him  removed  for  any- 
thing. There  would  be  a  risk  in  it,  the  doctor 
says." 

The  injured  man  listened  with  accelerated  pulse. 
In  her  house,  partaking  of  her  hospitality,  of  her 
sympathy  !  It  was  too  much  ! 

"  You  haven't  heard  nothing  from  his  relations  ?" 
said  the  landlord. 

"  No,  but  I  think  we  may  to-day.  I  wrote  to  them 
at  once,  using  the  address  that  was  found  in  his 
pocket." 

"  I  wish  I  had  better  news  to  send  to  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt,"  said  the  landlord.  "  It  is  very  unfortunate 
for  him.  He  told  me  he  never  dreamed  he'd  hit  so 
hard.  Now  the  papers  are  full  of  the  story,  and  half 
of  the  police  of  Massachusetts  and  New  York  are 
lookin'  /or  him.  Even  if  nothin*  worse  happens  that 
must  be  gallin'.  Some  of  the  things  in  the  papers 
are  outrageous.  There  wa'n't  no  excuse  for  bringin' 
your  name  in." 

Mrs.  Darrell  sighed  deeply. 

**  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  sorry.  So  many 
people  who  do  not  know  me  will  read  those  accounts. 


338  EBB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Here  in  Auburn,  where  I  have  lived  from  a  child, 
my  reputation  is  safe.  I  never  wronged  a  soul  in 
my  life,  and  I  cannot  understand  why  I  should 
have  such  enemies." 

The  speaker  withdrew  and  the  invalid  breathed 
a  little  freer.  But  now  the  infamy  of  his  conduct 
was  presented  to  him  in  the  boldest  outlines.  What 
a  price  he  was  paying  for  the  jewel  he  sought  ! 
Could  there  be  no  way  to  establish  his  own  happi- 
ness except  to  ruin  that  of  this  innocent  woman  ? 
It  would  not  have  taken  much  at  that  moment  to 
extort  a  confession  of  his  falsity,  but  there  was  no 
one  to  put  the  questions,  and  the  opportunity  passed 
by.  The  only  passion  of  his  life  was  involved.  If 
he  had  known  that  he  was  to  rise  from  that  bed 
other  than  Laura  Casson's  accepted  suitor,  he  would 
have  preferred  to  meet  death  then  and  there.  Com- 
pared with  fulfilling  her  wishes,  all  honor,  all  truth, 
sank  to  nothing.  It  was  a  strange  development  of 
the  human  mind,  and  not  by  any  means  peculiar  to 
the  person  under  discussion. 

When  Dr.  Stevens  came  at  ten  o'clock,  Clarkson 
thought  it  well  to  act  natural.  He  opened  his  eyes 
and  made  intelligent  responses  to  the  questions  of 
the  medical  man.  The  doctor  went  to  gladden  Mrs 
Darrell's  heart  with  the  news,  and  soon  it  spread  like 
wildfire  through  the  town.  An  avalanche  of  officials 
and  reporters  swept  down  upon  the  house,  and  the 
muffled  bell  was  pulled  continually.  Tom  Crowell, 
the  boy-of-all-work,  was  finally  commissioned — to 
his  great  delight — to  sit  on  the  piazza,  and  give  this 
invariable  message  to  all  callers  : 

"  Mr.  Clarkson  is  conscious,  and  will  probably 
recover,  but  Dr.  Stevens  has  positively  forbiddei* 
him  seeing  any  one  before  to-morrow  or  later." 


DABRELL   UNDER   ARREST.  239 

The  newspaper  men  did  not  like  this  "  bluff,"  as 
they  very  freely  termed  it.  They  had  the  impres- 
sion that  Clarkson  ought  to  give  out  a  "  statement," 
whether  it  killed  him  or  not,  and  each  one  conceived 
a  special  plan  for  securing  it,  whenever  it  should  be 
made,  for  his  own  journal  exclusively.  So  great 
was  the  enterprise  of  these  knights  of  the  quill,  that 
the  cook  surprised  two  of  them  in  the  potato  cellar, 
listening  near  one  of  the  furnace  registers  believed 
to  communicate  with  the  sick-room,  they  having 
entered  through  a  very  small  window.  A  special 
watchman  was  thereupon  engaged  to  patrol  the 
premises,  but  his  cupidity  was  not  proof  against  the 
"  persuasions  "  of  one  of  the  Boston  reporters,  who, 
after  dark,  mounted  a  lightning-rod  and  nearly 
burned  one  of  his  ears  off  at  the  kitchen  chimney. 

Dr.  Stevens  refused  even  to  say  good-morning 
when  he  left  the  house,  and  was  appropriately  excori- 
ated in  the  evening  journals.  Landlord  Upham. 
who  was  exempted  from  the  order  of  exclusion — for 
no  good  reason  that  any  of  the  reporters  could  see 
— came  in  haste  when  he  heard  that  Clarkson  was 
conscious,  to  verify  the  news.  He  had  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  a  thousand  inquiries,  but  came  out 
unscathed.  Half  an  hour  later  Jim  Brodie  drove 
out  of  Auburn  in  an  express  wagon  with  a  telegram 
in  his  pocket,  and  before  three  o'clock  Mordaunt 
was  in  possession  of  the  welcome  news  in  his 
Adirondack  retreat. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  another  sensa- 
iion  struck  the  village,  and  caused  a  temporary  scat- 
tering of  the  guard  that  had  encamped  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Darrell  house.  It  was  learned 
that  Officer  Barnett  had  arrived  with  his  new 
Msi\spect,"  and  lodged  him  in  the  town  lock-up.  B;.r- 


240 


nett  was  as  anxious  to  talk  as  Dr.  Stevens  was  to  avoid 
it,  and  the  note-books  were  soon  filled  with  his 
experiences  and  theories.  Leave  was  refused  to 
interview  Darrell,  but  Mr.  Arnold  was  not  idle.  As 
soon  as  he  ascertained  from  Dr.  Stevens  that  Clark- 
son  was  practically  out  of  danger,  he  applied  to  the 
nearest  authority  to  admit  his  client  to  bail.  And 
before  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  horizon,  Darrell 
walked  out  of  the  lock-up  and  toward  his  wife's 
house,  with  a  regiment  of  officers,  reporters  and 
other  people  at  his  heels. 

Not  a  word  would  he  speak  to  any  of  them.  He 
strode  forward  like  an  iron  man.  At  the  gate  he 
paused  and  asked  Tom,  who  still  stood  sentinel,  if 
he  would  request  Dr.  Stevens  to  come  out. 

The  doctor  was  surprised  at  the  immense  crowd 
which  greeted  him  as  he  came  down  the  steps  and 
took  Mr.  Darrell's  hand,  but  he  concealed  his  aston- 
ishment, and  asked  why  he  was  summoned. 

"Dr.  Stevens,"  was  the  clearly  uttered  reply,"! 
have  known  you  for  many  years,  and  I  believe  you 
are  a  truthful  man.  If  you  think  you  have  a  right 
to  do  so,  I  want  you  to  answer  me  one  question. 
Has  George  Clarkson,  who  is  ill  within  there,  said 
to  any  one,  or  implied,  to  your  knowledge,  that  I 
am  the  person  who  assaulted  him  ?" 

Before  the  medical  man  could  reply,  Mr.  Barnett 
stepped  forward. 

"  I  object,  doctor,  to  your  answering  that.  The 
reason  I  object  is  because  it  may  interfere  with  the 
course  of  justice." 

Darrell  turned  sharply  on  the  man. 

"  If  you  interrupt  me  again,  sir,  I  will  treat  you 
as  a  meddler  deserves  to  be  treated." 

"You  are  aware.  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Barnett, 


UNDER  ARREST.  241 


vously,  *  that  you  are  threatening  an  officer  who  is 
in  the  discharge  of  his  duty." 

"I  am  aware  of  nothing  of  the  kind,"  was  the 
reply.  "  You  arrested  me  this  morning  in  Boston, 
as  I  believe,  with  a  lie  in  your  mouth.  I  am  now 
out  on  bail,  and  you  cannot  touch  me.  At  this 
moment  you  are  no  longer  an  officer  in  the  discharge 
of  his  duty.  You  are  a  loafer  and  a  tramp,  and  I  warn 
you  once  more  not  to  interfere  in  my  affairs.  Dr. 
Stevens,"  he  continued,  "  if  you  think  you  ought  not 
to  answer  my  question,  I  shall  not  press  it.  But  if 
you  can,  it  may  relieve  me  of  an  unjust  stigma,  which 
the  press  of  several  States  have  cast  upon  me." 

"  I  see  no  reason,"  responded  the  doctor,  cordially, 
"  why  I  should  not  reply  to  what  you  ask.  Mr. 
Clarkson  did  not  recover  consciousness  until  about 
ten  o'clock  this  morning,  and  since  then  he  has  not 
mentioned  your  name." 

"There  is  no  equivocation  in  your  answer?** 

"  None  whatever." 

•*  I  thank  you." 

Darrell  strode  to  where  Mr.  Barnett  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  crowd,  and  looked  him  In  the  face. 

*  Under  what  pretense  did  you  get  a  judge  to 
issue  that  warrant  for  my  arrest  ?"  he  demanded. 
"  Before  to-morrow  night  I  will  put  an  attachment 
on  every  piece  of  property  that  you  own  !  I  assure 
you,  sir,  I  shall  probe  this  affair  to  the  bottom  !" 

Dr.  Stevens,  who  had  re-entered  the  house,  came 
back  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"Your  wife  wants  me  to  say  that  you  are  welcome 
to  come  in  if  you  wish." 

"Tell  her  I  do  -not  care  to,"  he  replied,  curtly, 
taking  Mr.  Arnold  by  the  arm,  and  walking  off  with 
him  in  the  direction  of  the  hotel, 


242  HEX  HUSBAND** 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AN    UNSEALED    LETTER. 

In  making  this  response  Darrell  had  no  intention 
of  wounding  the  feelings  of  his  wife,  and  certainly 
none  of  conveying  any  such  impression  to  the  man 
of  medicine.  He  was  not  thinking  of  Anna,  or  of 
what  she  said,  or  of  the  projected  divorce.  He  was 
thinking  only  of  Barnett,  and  it  made  him  very  ill- 
tempered. 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not  go  in,"  said  Lawyer 
Arnold,  when  he  heard  the  nature  of  the  doctor's 
request.  "  They  might  accuse  you  and  your  wife  of 
collusion.  You  are,  after  all,  only  out  on  bail,  you 
know.  There  is  a  case  pending  against  you.  I  am 
sorry  you  had  those  words  with  the  officer.  They 
will  sound  badly  when  repeated." 

Darrell  fumed  furiously. 

"  Good  heavens  !  What  icebergs  you  lawyers 
are !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  think  I  can  be 
insulted  in  this  manner — arrested,,ironed,'imprisoned, 
posted  all  over  the  country  as  a  murderer,  have  all 
my  family  affairs  discussed  in  the  newspapers — and 
keep  as  cool  as  a  snow  bank  ?  I  haven't  killed 
any  one  yet,  but  I  fear  I  shall  if  I  am  driven  much 
further." 

At  which  the  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  down  on  his  client  again,  from  the  height  of 
his  thirty  years  of  practice. 

The  next  morning  Clarkson  had  improved  so 
much  that  the  doctor  felt  no  hesitation  in  allowing 


AH   UW8EALED   LETTEB.  943 

Mr.  Arnold  to  see  him,  but  when  the  in/ured  man 
found  what  was  wanted  he  refused  positively  to 
make  anything  in  the  way  of  an  affidavit. 

"  The  only  object  that  I  have,"  said  the  lawyer  to 
him,  "is  to  relieve  your  friend,  Mr.  Darrell,  of  an 
unpleasant  suspicion,  under  which  he  is  laboring. 
He  has  been  arrested  for  this  crime  and  held  to 
answer.  His  reputation  is  of  some  value  to  him, 
as  you  may  imagine,  and  you  can  easily  clear  away 
everything." 

Ciarkson  consulted  with  the  doctor  a  moment 
before  he  replied  : 

"  I  have  a  natural  disinclination  to  legal  proceed- 
ings of  any  sort,"  he  said,  finally.  "  I  would  not 
take  an  oath,  because  to  me  it  has  no  sanctity  ;  but 
I  can  meet  your  wishes  in  a  more  direct  way.  You 
may  invite  into  this  room  any  officials  whom  you 
please,  Mr.  Darrell  himself,  if  he  likes  to  come,  and 
the  newpaper  reporters.  I  will  answer  any  ques- 
tions that  may  be  put  to  me  in  regard  to  this  matter, 
in  the  presence  of  them  all." 

It  was  not  the  regular  legal  way  to  do  the  thing, 
but  Mr.  Arnold  was  wise  enough  to  see  that  it  was 
the  best  he  could  get,  and  he  immediately  assented 
to  the  proposition.  He  went  out  and  engaged  one 
of  the  newspaper  man,  who  was  a  phonographic 
reporter,  to  take  notes  of  the  subsequent  proceed- 
ings, and  to  submit  them  in  writing  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble, with  an  affidavit  of  their  correctness.  Then  he 
went  to  see  Darrell,  who  approved  of  what  he  was 
doing,  but  declined  to  be  present,  and  half  an  hour 
later  he  had  gathered  a  company  of  over  a  dozen 
people  in  the  sick-chamber,  ready  to  begin  his  pro- 
ceedings. 

**It    is    Mr.    Clarkson's    desire,"  explained  Dr. 


244  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Stevens,  "  to  make  his  statement  as  explicit  as  possi- 
ble, but  as  he  is  still  weak,  I  cannot  allow  any 
unnecessary  circumlocution.  Mr.  Arnold,  will  you 
put  your  questions  as  concisely  as  you  can  ?" 

The  lawyer  hemmed,  and  the  reporters  held  their 
pencils  ready. 

"  Your  name  is  George  Clarkson  ?"  began  Mr. 
Arnold. 

The  injured  man  smiled  faintly  and  responded  in 
the  affirmative. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  be  in  your  present  con- 
dition ?" 

"I  was  assaulted  in  front  of  Mr.  DarreU's  resi- 
dence." 

"  Was  the  assault  committed  by  Mr.  Darrell?" 

"  I  think  not,  sir." 

There  was  a  slight  sensation  in  the  room,  and  many 
eyes  were  turned  on  Officer  Barnett,  who  lost  color 
and  shook  his  head  as  if  incredulous. 

"  Had  Mr.  Darrell,  as  far  as  you  know  or  believe, 
anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  assault?" 

•'  No,  sir." 

"  That  is  all  that  I  care  to  ask,"  said  Mr.  Arnold. 
"  I  appear  here  only  as  counsel  for  Mr.  Darrell." 

Sheriff  Dickenson  then  spoke  : 

"  Will  you  tell  us  who  did  assault  you  ?"  he  asked, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  would  now  show  that  his 
judgment  was  substantiated. 

Clarkson  smiled  again. 

"  That  would  be  impossible,  sir,"  he  replied. 

The  sheriff  was  much  disconcerted. 

"Impossible!"  he  echoed.     "Why?" 

"Because  I  do  not  know." 

The  sensation  this  time  was  most  pronounced. 
Officers  stared  blankly  at  reporters,  and  reporters 


AY  UNSBALBD   LETTKK.  243 

stared  at  each  other.  Was  all  their  week's  work  to 
go  for  naught  ? 

"You — do — not — know!"  repeated  Mr.  Dick- 
enson.  "  Did  you  not  see  Harold  Mordaunt  that 
night  ?" 

"  Yes,  when  I  approached  the  house  with  my 
friend  Darrell  I  saw  him — Mr.  Mordaunt,  or  Mr 
Allen,  whichever  his  name  is.  For  reasons  which  I 
need  not  divulge  I  remained  in  the  background  and 
the  others  entered  the  house  together.  I  was 
assaulted  while  waiting  outside." 

Dickenson  was  a  disappointed  man,  but  he  held 
on  to  the  last. 

"Did  you  see  Mr.  Mordaunt  come  out  ?" 

"Yes,"  smiled  the  witness,  finding  much  amuse- 
ment in  the  anxiety  that  was  depicted  on  the 
sheriff's  face.  He  hated  all  officers  of  the  law,  as  a 
matter  of  principle.  "  I  saw  him  come  out  and  walk 
away." 

*'  Did  you  speak  to  him  or  he  to  you  ?" 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Did  he  see  you  r 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"  How  can  you  be  positive  that  he  was  not  th« 
man  that  assaulted  you  ?" 

"  I  have  not  said  I  was  positive  of  it.  I  only  say 
I  do  not  know." 

"  Ah  !  Then  it  might  have  been  Mordaunt  ?"  said 
the  sheriff,  brightening. 

"  Yes  ;  or  Dr.  Stevens  ;  or  you." 

The  exultant  expression  fled. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?"  asked  Dickenson, 
fretfully. 

**  I  know  that  I  was  standing  a  little  way  from  Mr. 
DarreH's  gate,  among  the  trees  by  the  roadside,  and 


246  HBR  HUSBAND'S  FRIEMD. 

I  know  that  some  time  after  I  found  myself  lying 
in  this  bed.     That  is  all." 

Dickenson  withdrew  at  this,  and  Officer  Barnett 
thought  he  would  try  again. 

"  You  could  not  swear  it  was  not  Mr.  Darrell  ?" 
said  he. 

Clarkson  delighted  at  the  discomfiture  of  any 
minion  of  the  law. 

"  I  could  only  swear — if  I  chose  to  swear  at  all, 
which  I  do  not — that  Mr.  Darrell  had  gone  into  the 
house,  and  seemed  to  be  still  there  ;  that  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt  had  gone  in  and  come  out,  and  that  I  appeared 
to  be  alone." 

"  And  you  saw  no  other  person  ?" 

"  None.  Now  gentlemen,  if  you  were  to  interro 
gate  me  for  a  week  I  could  tell  you  no  more,  and  I 
must  wish  you  all  good-morning." 

The  next  day,  in  his  Adirondack  retreat,  Mordaunt 
read  this  interview  from  the  official  report,  in  a  copy 
of  the  New  York  Times,  and  was  intensely  surprised. 
He  could  not  tell  what  to  make  of  it.  On  its  face  it 
seemed  a  very  noble  thing  in  Clarkson,  but  it  had  a 
suspicious  quality,  not  like  the  sound  of  true  metal. 
It  was  not  easy  to  ascribe  nobility  to  a  man  who 
had  deliberately  attacked  the  character  of  a  woman 
like  Anna  Darrell.  Perhaps  it  was  a  ruse  to  tempt 
him  out  of  cover,  when  other  and  positive  evidence 
would  be  presented.  For  all  Mordaunt  knew,  some 
third  party — perhaps  Jason  himself — had  witnessed 
the  assault.  He  decided  to  remain  quiet  for  the 
present. 

It  may  not  seem  the  part  of  a  hero  to  hide  him- 
self when  he  is  wanted  to  answer  to  a  charge  oi 
which  he  is  undoubtedly  guilty,  but  Haroid  Mor- 


AM  UNSEALED   LETTEB.  947 

daunt  had  never  claimed  to  be  a  hero,  and  'here  was 
nothing  attractive  in  the  prospect  of  an  arraignment 
in  court  or  a  term  in  prison.  A  fishing-rod  and  a 
boat  in  the  lakes  of  the  hills  suited  him  better  at 
that  season.  He  wrote  to  an  attorney  in  Boston 
whom  he  knew — a  Mr.  Wallace — asking  him  to  look 
into  the  matter  and  ascertain  whether  it  was  safe  for 
him  to  appear  and  give  bail.  Mr.  Wallace  took  the 
letter  to  Auburn  and  at  once  placed  himself  in  com- 
munication with  Landlord  Upham,  to  whom  he 
showed  his  credentials.  The  wary  landlord,  how- 
ever, counselled  patience,  and  thus  a  week  went  by. 

During  that  week  Clarkson  had  abundant  leisure 
for  thought.  He  saw  no  one  except  his  nurse,  the 
doctor,  and  Mrs.  Darrell,  and  made  rapid  progress 
toward  recovery.  Darrell  sent  a  message  to  him  by 
Dr.  Stevens,  saying  that  his  attorney  believed  it 
wiser  for  him  not  to  enter  the  house,  but  that  he 
would  do  anything  else  for  his  comfort  that  might 
be  suggested.  But  there  was  nothing  that  any  one 
could  do  for  him  that  was  not  being  done.  His  sole 
desire  was  to  reach  Boston  and  see  Miss  Casson 
again.  He  hungered  and  thirsted  for  one  bright 
glance  from  her  eyes,  one  tender  smile  that  should 
tell  him  that  what  he  had  done  was  appreciated. 

As  soon  as  he  could  sit  up,  a  pen  and  ink  were 
furnished  him,  with  the  caution  not  to  tire  himself. 
He  wrote — to  whom  else  could  he  write  ? — to  her. 
Every  word  breathed  the  fullness  of  his  devotion, 
the  resistless  passion  of  his  love  ! 

"  I  have  obeyed  you,"  he  said,  "  in  every  respect. 
He  believes  her  guilty  and  nothing  will  convince  him 
to  the  contrary.  Mordaunt,  who  assaulted  me,  as 
you  have  probably  read  in  the  paper,  fled,  and  I 


348  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

could  have  had  him  severely  punished  ;  but  what 
was  my  revenge  to  yours  ?  I  have  made  a  public 
statement  that  I  do  not  know  my  assailant,  for  I 
knew  that  in  case  he  was  arrested  he  might  not  be 
available  when  the  time  comes  that  you  need  him. 
I  could  not  consult  with  you,  but  I  have  tried  to  do 
as  you  would  wish.  Think  of  my  situation  here, 
under  her  roof,  ministered  to  by  her  very  hands !  I 
have  had  to  stifle  every  feeling  but  the  one  of  loy- 
alty to  you.  Never  before  did  man  feel  such  love 
for  woman.  I  would  be  true  10  my  promises 
though  they  carried  me  through  the  gates  of  the 
Inferno.  In  a  few  days  I  shall  be  able  to  travel, 
and  then  it  will  be  only  a  question  of  hours  when 
I  shall  be  at  your  side  !" 

He  had  just  strength  enough  to  superscribe  the 
envelope  and  affix  the  stamp,  when  he  sank  back  on 
his  pillow  exhausted. 

Dr.  Stevens  took  the  letter  to  mail,  and,  as  he  was 
leaving  the  bouse,  stopped  to  talk  a  moment  with 
Mrs.  Darrell. 

"  Our  patient  is  improving  fast,"  he  said.  "  See, 
he  has  just  written  a  letter." 

She  never  knew  what  induced  her  to  ask  the  ques- 
tion— it  seemed  so  totally  unnatural  :  "  To  some  of 
his  relations  ?" 

"No."  He  held  it  up  to  her.  "To  some  lady 
friend.  Perhaps  a  sweetheart." 

There  are  moments  when  each  of  us  is  surprised 
at  his  own  mental  strength.  Anna  read  the  name  on 
that  envelope,  and  recognized  it  as  that  of  the  woman 
of  whom  her  Aunt  Burton  had  told  her — the  woman 
«rho  had  kept  Edmund  from  her  for  nearly  the  whole 
•of  hi*  married  life.  But  she  did  not  start,  or  turn  pale. 


A.V  U1C8EALED  LKTTBB.  249 

"I  am  going  to  the  post-office,"  she  said,  quietly, 
"and  I  can  put  it  in  the  box.  It  will  save  you  leav- 
ing your  carriage." 

He  thanked  her  and  placed  the  letter  in  her  hand. 
Then  he  drove  away,  and,  after  seeing  that  he  was 
out  of  sight,  she  re-entered  the  house,  went  to  her 
chamber,  locked  the  door,  drew  the  blinds,  and  sat 
down  with  the  missive  on  the  table  before  her.  She 
read  the  name  and  address  again,  though  the  letters 
danced  before  her  eyes.  She  turned  the  envelope 
over. 

//  was  not  sealed  ! 

In  his  weakness  Clarkson  had  neglected  this 
important  act,  though  Anna,  in  her  present  mood, 
would  have  opened  that  letter  if  it  had  required  a 
cold  chisel  to  do  it.  But  when  she  saw  it  lying 
before  her,  without  even  this  expected  barrier  to  an 
inspection  of  its  contents,  she  was  startled.  The 
meanness  of  reading  private  correspondence  touched 
her.  She  dreaded  to  do  the  thing  she  had  resolved 
upon.  Had  anything  less  important  been  at  stake, 
she  would  have  sealed  the  letter  and  sent  it  on  its 
way.  No  pecuniary  interest,  hardly  the  question  of 
her  own  life  or  death,  would  have  tempted  her.  But 
her  reputation  was  in  the  scale,  and  everything  must 
give  way  before  the  exigency. 

She  thought  there  might  be  some  word  here,  some 
hint,  that  would  show  whether  her  husband's  rela- 
tions with  this  woman  were  what  her  aunt  had 
claimed.  She  never  dreamed  of  the  discovery  she 
was  about  to  make ;  and  when  she  had  read  the  let- 
ter, and  realized  the  plot  of  which  she  had  been  the 
victim,  her  indignation  was  roused  to  the  highest 
pitch. 

"I  will  go  with  it  in  my  hand  and  ask  him  what 


250  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

he  means  !"  was  her  instant  resolve.  "  So  thi* 
Clarkson  is  the  serpent  that  has  coiled  himself 
around  us  !  This  creature  that  I  have  nursed  back 
to  life  would  rob  me  of  all  I  hold  dear  on  earth  ! 
He  shall  explain  it  to  me  !  He  shall  know  that  I 
have  discovered  his  villainy  ;  and  then,  sick  or  well, 
out  of  my  house  he  shall  go." 

She  threw  open  the  door  of  her  room  and  was 
about  to  descend  the  stairs,  when  she  heard  the 
voices  of  her  children  calling  her.  After  turning 
back  to  attend  to  their  little  requests,  she  went  again 
into  her  chamber  and  sat  down  to  think.  Her 
excitement  had  had  time  to  lessen  in  a  measure,  and 
she  tried  to  consider  which  was  the  wisest  course  to 
take.  The  final  result  of  her  deliberations  was  that 
she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  went  down  to  the  office 
of  the  village  lawyer,  Mr.  Jacobs. 

He  was  the  same  lawyer  who  had  drawn  up 
Ephraim  Burton's  latest  will,  and  he  knew  most  of 
the  secrets  of  the  Darrell  household,  as  he  did  of  all 
the  other  households  within  half  a  do/en  miles.  He 
could  have  recognized  each  individual  skeleton  in  all 
the  closets  of  Auburn  and  vicinity,  had  his  knowl- 
edge been  put  to  the  test,  and  labelled  it  with  its 
correct  name.  Before  Mrs.  Darrell  had  spoken 
twenty  words,  he  interrupted  her  to  say  that  he 
knew  all  about  her  disagreement  with  her  husband, 
and  that  she  might  confine  herself  to  the  latest 
phase  of  the  case.  At  that  she  showed  him  the  let- 
ter, and  when  he  had  read  it  his  professional  and 
physical  eyes  opened  very  wide  indeed. 

"  This  was  written  by  the  man  who  is  lying  sick 
in  your  house  ?"  he  said. 

She  assented. 

"  How  4id  you  get  it  ?" 


AM   UNSEALED    LETTER.  251 

She  told  him. 

"  It  is  a  serious  matter,  opening  a  letter  that  is 
ready  to  mail,"  said  he.  "You  have  laid  yourself 
liable  to  imprisonment." 

"  It  was  unsealed,"  she  replied,  evincing  no  fear 
at  this  dire  announcement. 

"  Umph  !"  responded  Mr.  Jacobs.  "  Well,  what 
do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  tell  me  what  /  am  to  do,"  she 
replied,  with  slight  impatience. 

"  You  want  to  retain  me.     Is  that  it  ?" 

"  Why,  yes.     I  suppose  so." 

"  Twenty-five  dollars,  please." 

She  counted  out  the  money.  She  had  known 
Lawyer  Jacobs  for  a  long  time,  and  his  blunt  ways 
were  no  surprise  to  her. 

"  Do  you  want  a  divorce  ?"  he  asked,  when  he  had 
the  bills  stowed  safely  away  in  his  pocket. 

"I  am  sure  there  will  have  to  be  a  separation," 
she  faltered.  "  I  could  never  live  with  him  again." 

"  He  is  willing,  is  he  not  ?"  was  the  next  question. 

"Yes."  She  hesitated.  "  But  he  accuses  me  of — 
of  all  sorts  of  crimes  ;  and  we  must  show  him  that 
he  has  been  deceived  by  this  man." 

"  How  can  we  show  him  that  ?" 

"Why,  by  this  letter.  He  will  understand  at 
once  that  there  has  been  a  conspiracy  between  those 
people." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

"We  can't  show  him  that  letter,"  he  said.  "Tt 
must  be  mailed  to-night.  You  can  make  a  copy  of 
it,  if  you  are  willing  to  run  the  risk,  and  will  keep  it 
under  lock  and  key.  I  don't  advise  it,  mind.  It  is 
a  dangerous  thing  to  do.  Is  your  husband  still  in 
Auburo  ?" 


852  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

u  I  think  so.     I  understand  that  be  is  still  stopping 

at  the  Auburn  House." 

"  I  will  see  him.  If  he  is  at  all  inclined  to  be  sen- 
sible, I  think  I  can  make  that  letter  of  use.  You 
may  make  a  copy — on  your  own  responsibility 
— but  you  must  never  show  it  to  a  living  soul  unless 
I  give  you  leave.  Whatever  you  do,  mail  it  to-night 
— unsealed,  just  as  it  is — in  time  for  the  evening 
train,  or  my  plans  will  go  for  nothing." 

Mr.  Jacobs  sat  and  thought  for  nearly  an  hour 
after  his  fair  client  had  disappeared.  It  was  a 
favorite  proverb  of  his  that  a  man  who  has  two 
hours  in  which  to  do  a  thing  should  spend  the  first 
one  in  deciding  how  to  use  the  second  to  advan* 
tage.  After  satisfying  himself  about  the  course  he 
had  decided  to  take,  he  wrote  a  brief  note  to  Mr. 
Darrell,  asking  him  to  call  at  his  office  and  to  bring 
his  attorney  with  him,  if  Mr.  Arnold  was  at  hand. 
Darrell,  who  was  lounging  away  the  afternoon  in 
his  very  dull  fashion  at  the  hotel,  was  thankful  for 
anything  to  vary  the  monotony.  Though  he  had 
no  idea  what  Jacobs  wanted,  he  summoned  Mr. 
Arnold,  and  together  they  walked  down  to  see  tb% 
lawyer. 


-I  BEPRBSEBT  TOUB  WIFE."  868 


CHAPTER    XX. 

*I     REPRESENT    YOUR    WIFE," 

*  1  ^present  your  wife,"  was  the  unvarnished 
Statement  of  Mr.  Jacobs,  as  soon  as  he  had  welcomed 
his  visitor  and  gone  through  the  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction to  Mr.  Arnold. 

There  is  something  disagreeable  to  any  man  in 
meeting  for  the  first  time  a  legal  gentleman  who  is 
empowered  to  use  this  phrase,  and  Edmund  Darrell 
felt  a  chill  creeping  through  his  bones. 

"  I  represent  your  wife,"  repeated  Mr.  Jacobs,  and 
Darrell  winced  again.  "  I  understand  that  you 
intend  to  obtain  a  divorce  from  her,  if  you  can,  on  a 
certain  allegation  which  you  propose  to  bring.  Now 
I  think  you  would  dislike  to  accuse  her  of  anything 
of  which  she  is  not  guilty  ;  in  other  words,  that  you 
are  not  vindictive  in  the  matter.  I  think  I  am  able 
to  show  you  by  satisfactory  evidence  that  you  have 
been  deceived  by  a  designing  person." 

Mr.  Arnold  put  in  a  word. 

**  When  do  you  intend  to  give  us  your  reasons  for 
this  extraordinary  assertion,  Mr.  Jacobs  ?" 

Mr.  Jacobs  replied  that  he  proposed,  if  Mr.  Dar- 
rell desired  it,  to  put  him  in  the  way  of  proving 
that  his  assertions  were  true  within  fifteen  hours. 

"  Before  I  say  what  I  will  or  will  not  do,"  Mr. 
Darrell  interposed,  "I  must  remind  you  that  my 
wife  has  also  made  accusations  against  me.  I  would 
like  to  inquire  if  she  is  willing  to  withdraw  them  ?*' 


954  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

"  If  they  can  be  shown  to  be  as  groundless  at 
yours  are  against  her,"  said  Mr.  Jacobs,  "  I  may  safely 
say  they  will  be  abandoned  at  once." 

Darrell  bridled  at  the  "  if."  But  he  assured  Mr. 
Jacobs  that  it  had  been  his  full  intention  when  he 
came  to  Auburn  to  allow  his  wife  a  separation,  with 
complete  honor  to  her  name  ;  and  he  added  that  he 
should  still  prefer  his  original  plan,  which  he  briefly 
outlined,  as  he  had  given  it  to  Mordaunt. 

"There  will  be  a  good  deal  less  trouble  in  the 
world,"  put  in  Mr.  Arnold,  "  when  people  learn  to 
intrust  their  business  affairs  to  men  of  the  law.  If 
you  had  come  to  me  in  the  first  place,  Mr.  Darrell, 
and  sent  me  to  see  your  wife,  amicable  arrange- 
ments could  have  been  made,  and  all  unpleasantness 
avoided." 

To  this  view  Mr.  Jacobs  warmly  assented,  as  no 
doubt  Mr.  Wallace  would  have  done,  had  the  third 
counsel  in  the  case  been  present ;  and  all  the  other 
members  of  the  Massachusetts  bar,  for  that  matter. 

"What  is  it  that  you  want  me  to  do?"  Darrell 
asked.  "  You  said  something  about  a  conspiracy." 

"  I  did,"  responded  Mr.  Jacobs  impressively.  "Are 
you  prepared  to  undergo  a  great  shock  to  your  feel- 
ings— to  find  that  one  in  whom  you  have  placed 
implicit  confidence  has  set  deliberately  about  your 
ruin  ?  I  think  I  can  put  into  your  own  hands  the 
means  of  unveiling  a  plot  of  which  you  are  the  victim. 
It  will  require  nerve  and  courage  on  your  part,  but 
if  you  will  agree  to  play  the  cards  according  to  my 
instruction,  the  game  is  in  your  hands." 

Darrell  listened  incredulously,  but  he  told  the 
lawyer  to  state  his  proposition. 

"  You  must  go  to  Boston  to-night  on  the  late  train, 
and  take  a  cab  qqietly  to  your  residence,  seeing 


*I  BBPBKSENT   YOTTB  WOTB.*  155 

•obody.  In  the  morning,  as  early  as  half-past  eight 
o'clock,  you  must  make  a  call  on  your  friend, 
Miss  C." 

A  sudden  start  betrayed  the  surprise  of  the  hearer. 
He  essayed  to  speak,  but  suppressed  the  inclination. 

"  Go  on,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  I  want  you  to  see  your  friend  before  she  ha» 
opened  her  morning  mail,  in  which,  if  I  do  not  mis- 
take, there  will  be  a  letter  post-marked  '  Auburn.' 
You  must  possess  yourself  of  the  contents  of  that 
letter." 

Mr.  Jacobs  paused,  and  Darrell  met  his  eye  with 
an  ironical  smile. 

"  A  truly  ingenious  plan,"  he  said.  "  But  before 
I  agree  to  do  an  act  which  appears  on  its  face  the 
most  contemptible  in  the  world,  will  you  tell  me 
what  I  am  to  expect  to  find  in  this  mysterious 
communication  ?" 

The  lawyer  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  toyed  with  a 
pencil  that  lay  on  the  table. 

41  Possibly  that  your  supposed  friends  are  your 
worst  enemies,  and  your  supposed  enemies  your  best 
friends,"  he  replied,  slowly.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to 
say.  You  have  been  married  for  nine  years  to  one 
of  the  loveliest  girls  in  Auburn.  If  you  prefer  to 
believe  her  guilty  of  that  from  which  her  soul  would 
revolt,  you  will  neglect  this  opportunity  to  prove  her 
innocence." 

"  Do  you  charge  Miss — Miss  C. — with  being  one 
of  the  conspirators  against  me  ?"  he  demanded. 

44 1  charge  no  one  with  anything.  By  an  accident 
I  am  in  a  position  to  give  you  this  advice.  Follow 
it  or  not  as  you  please.  If  you  get  possession  of 
that  letter,  do  not  part  with  it. " 


266  HKB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND, 

Mr.  Arnold,  who  had  looked  on  with  •  somewhat 
sour  countenance,  now  interrupted. 

"Do  you  advise  my  client  to  steal  that  letter?*' 

Mr.  Jacobs  smiled. 

"  I  should  have  no  hesitation  in  advising  a  man  to 
commit  a  little  crime  when  it  will  prevent  a  great 
one,"  he  replied.  "  The  letter  in  question  will  prob- 
ably be  unsealed.  Mr.  Darrell  will  be  able  to  read 
it  before  he  decides  whether  it  is  worth  carrying 
away." 

Darrell  could  not  help  a  growing  distrust  of  Mr. 
Jacobs,  whose  story  seemed  to  him  quite  absurd. 
How  could  he  possibly  know  so  well  the  contents  of 
a  compromising  letter,  and  even  whether  it  was  or 
was  not  in  a  sealed  envelope. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  ?"  he  asked, 
rising. 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  response,  "  Shall  you  follow 
my  suggestion  ?" 

"  We  will  consider  that  subject  together,"  said 
Mr.  Arnold,  pompously.  "  Mr.  Darrell  will  remem- 
ber, I  trust,  that  you  are  his  wife's  counsel,  not  his. 
We  wish  you  good-day,  sir." 

On  the  way  back  to  the  Auburn  House  the  extra- 
ordinary proposition  was  discussed  at  length,  and 
both  men  found  themselves  quite  in  agreement 
about  it.  They  feared  that  there  was  a  trap  of  some 
sort  involved  in  the  affair,  and  thought  it  would  be 
the  part  of  discretion  to  let  it  al«ne.  But  as  the  day 
wore  away,  Darrell  grew  more  and  more  uneasy  in 
his  mind.  If  there  was  really  a  scheme  to  deceive 
him — and  especially  if  Miss  Casson  was  in  any  way 
concerned — he  wanted  to  know  it.  As  the  hour 
approached  when  the  evening  train  was  due,  he 
Could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer.  He  suddenly 


"I  REPRESENT  TOUK  WIFB."  287 

burst  into  Mr.  Arnold's  room  with  the  announce- 
ment that  he  had  decided  to  go  to  Boston.  It  hap- 
pened, very  oddly,  that  the  same  form  of  reasoning 
had  been  going  on  in  the  mind  of  the  attorney,  who, 
however,  disliked  to  be  the  first  to  state  his  change 
of  opinion,  and  after  a  moment's  consultation,  they 
decided  to  go  together. 

"  If  you  are  determined  to  do  this,  I  may  as  well 
accompany  you,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  wishing  to  make 
it  out  a  violation  of  his  advice  in  case  anything  went 
wrong.  *'  If  there  is  such  a  letter  as  has  been 
described,  and  you  should  get  hold  of  it,  I  ought  to 
see  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

Edmund  Darrell  was  not  accustomed  to  lying 
awake  much  in  bed,  but  he  got  very  little  sleep  that 
night.  As  soon  as  daylight  appeared,  he  rose  and 
ate  a  slight  breakfast,  after  which  he  strolled  across 
the  Common  to  kill  the  interminable  hours.  He'had 
made  up  his  mind,  at  whatever  sacrifice  of  his  feel- 
ings, to  possess  that  letter  from  Auburn,  if  it  was  in 
Miss  Casson's  mail.  He  concluded  that  the  easiest 
method  was  to  intercept  the  post-man  on  his  early 
delivery. 

The  letter-carrier  knewr  him  well,  and  the  plan 
Worked  to  perfection. 

*  If  you  have  anything  for  Miss  Casson,  I  will  take 
it,  as  I  am  going  directly  there,"  he  said,  and  half  a 
dozen  letters,  besides  newspapers  and  magazines, 
were  unhesitatingly  handed  to  him.  As  soon  as  the 
post-man  disappeared  into  an  adjacent  store,  Darrell 
glanced  hurriedly  at  the  letters.  Yes  !  An  unsealed 
envelope  post-marked  "  Auburn,"  was  among  the 
number. 

He  hesitated  no  longer.  Though  his  fingers 
trembled,  he  took  out  the  note  and  began  to  read  it 


958  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FBIEHIX 

He  looked  first  for  the  signature,  and  his  heart  beat 
violently  as  he  proceeded  with  the  epistle  itself. 

"  I  have  obeyed  you — He  believes  her  guilty — 
What  was  my  revenge  to  yours  ? — I  have  tried  to  do 
as  you  would  wish — Think  of  my  situation  under 
l>.?~  roof— Never  before  did  man  feel  such  love  for 
womo.r>  " 

The  reader's  eyes  grew  misty.  The  revelation 
was  too  horrible  !  If  what  it  implied  were  true,  all 
faith  was  dead  on  earth  ! 

He  tried  very  hard  to  be  cool.  His  task  was  only 
begun.  This  letter  might  be  a  forgery.  There  was 
but  one  way  to  prove  its  genuineness.  He  must  sit  in 
the  room  when  she  read  it,  and  mark  her  face  and 
attitude. 

Mechanically  he  returned  the  letter  to  the  envelope 
and  this  time  he  sealed  it.  He  would  leave  nothing 
to  excite  her  suspicions.  He  put  all  of  the  mail  in 
his  pocket,  and  rang  the  bell.  The  maid  who 
admitted  him  looked  surprised  at  his  early  call,  but 
as  she  showed  him  into  the  "  Editorial  room,"  at  his 
request,  he  explained  that  he  had  just  arrived  in 
town.  He  said  he  was  in  no  hurry  ;  that  he  would 
sit  there  and  read  the  morning  papers  till  Miss 
Casson  was  ready  to  see  him.  As  soon  as  the  girl 
left  the  room,  he  placed  the  mail  carelessly  on  th« 
desk,  and  taking  up  a  morning  Herald  began  to 
read. 

She  came  in  half  an  hour — it  seemed  a  month—- 
and asked  him  to  go  in  to  breakfast  with  her.  When 
he  said  that  he  had  already  breakfasted,  she  sug- 
gested that  he  bring  his  paper  in  and  keep  her  com- 
pany. But  he  declined  on  the  plea  that  he  would 
~>aly  delay  her,  and  that  he  was  absorbed  in  *  long 


"I   REPRESENT    YOUR   WIFE."*  $59 

article  on  the  tariff,  of  which  he  had  in  reality  only 
read  the  head-lines. 

Miss  Casson  saw  that  he  was  troubled  about  some- 
thing, but  knowing  much  of  what  had  passed  at 
Auburn,  she  was  not  surprised.  After  taking  her 
breakfast  she  returned  to  him,  and,  as  he  seemed 
still  engrossed  in  the  newspaper,  she  asked  leave  to 
open  her  mail,  to  which  he  assented  by  a  nod. 
Taking  up  her  letters  she  inspected  them  one  by 
one,  and  laid  them  down  again,  until  that  from 
Auburn  was  reached,  when  she  divided  the  envelope 
with  her  paper-cutter  and  plunged  into  its  contents. 

The  expression  of  her  face,  which  he  watched 
narrowly,  changed  several  times  as  she  read,  and 
at  the  close  she  could  not  repress  an  exclamation  of 
impatience.  Darrell  turned  at  the  sound. 

"  Bad  news  ?"  he  asked,  laconically. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  slightly  confused.  "  And  yet, 
not  wholly  pleasing." 

"A  business  matter?"  he  asked  again,  rising 
from  his  chair  and  stretching  himself. 

"  No  ;  it  is  from  a  friend  merely.  It  is  of  no 
special  consequence." 

His  eye  rested  on  the  envelope,  and  he  simulated 
surprise. 

"  Why,  it's  from  Auburn  !" 

She  could  not  prevent  him  taking  it  up  without 
exciting  greater  suspicion,  but  it  was  with  much 
uneasiness  that  she  saw  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  friend  who  is  staying  there  for  a 
little  while,"  she  said. 

He  forced  a  laugh. 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  writing/'  he  responded.  "  Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  at  once  it  was  from  Clarkson  ?" 

He  stood  in  front  of  her  and  she  tried  hard  to  laugh, 


260  HE*  HUSBAND'S  FEIEWX 


too.  But  she  was  more  frightened  than  she  had 
ever  been  in  her  life. 

"  Well,  it  is  from  him,"  she  assented.  "  I  should 
have  told  you  in  a  minute  more,  but  I  didn't  like  to 
encourage  such  a  feminine  trait  in  you  as  over- 
curiosity." 

He  kept  up  the  pretense  of  a  smile,  and  asked  her 
what  Clarkson  had  to  say. 

"  He  is  at  my  house,  you  know,"  he  said.  *'  Or 
rather,  I  ought  to  put  it,  at  my  wife's." 

•"  Yes.  There  are  only  a  few  words.  He  is  hardly 
able  to  hold  a  pen,  but  he  says  he  is  improving  and 
expects  to  be  out  soon." 

He  pretended  to  turn  away,  as  if  to  resume  his 
chair.  Then,  with  a  quick  motion,  he  snatched  the 
letter  from  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  believe  that's  all,"  he  said,  holding  it  away 
from  her  in  his  left  hand,  and  still  pretending 
gaiety.  "  I  believe  he  is  making  love  to  you.  I  am 
jealous,  and  I  shall  read  it  for  myself." 

Her  agitation  was  now  extreme.  She  rose  to  her 
feet  and  made  several  vain  attempts  to  reach  the 
letter,  which  he  held  far  above  her  head.  But  she 
was  no  match  for  his  greater  size  and  strength,  ana 
in  a  moment  she  took  a  new  tack. 

"  Mr.  Darrell,"  she  said,  frigidly,  "  I  want  that 
letter.  If  you  do  not  give  it  to  me  at  once  all  friend- 
ship ceases  between  us." 

His  face  grew  very  grave. 

"  It  must  contain  some  momentous  secret,"  he 
replied, "  when  it  leads  you  to  say  a  thing  like  that" 

"By  no  means,"  she  answered.  "I  am  contend- 
ing for  a  principle.  You  have  no  right  to  read  tuy 
private  correspondence,  even  if  it  were  only  a  bill 
from  my  baker." 


"l   REPRESENT   YOU*  WOTS."  261 

I>arrell  was  convinced  by  this  time  that  Lawyer 
Jacobs  had  known  what  he  was  about,  and  he  had  no 
scruples  now  about  pursuing  this  matter  to  the  end. 

"  If  I  read  this  letter,  I  understand  we  are  to  be  no 
longer  friends,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  said  it  and  I  mean  it,"  replied  Miss  Casson 
"Will  you  cease  this  levity  and  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Not  after  that  statement.  I  am  not  a  good  man 
to  threaten.  I  shall  read  it." 

His  voice  had  grown  stern,  and  she  knew  that 
further  persuasions  were  useless.  Her  quick  brain 
set  at  work  to  parry  the  effect  of  the  storm  that 
must  ensue.  Her  manner  changed  instantly,  and  she 
burst  into  a  wild  laugh. 

"  Read  it,  by  all  means  !"  she  cried,  with  affected 
jocularity.  "  Read  it  and  make  out  what  it  is,  if  you 
can,  for  it's  all  Greek  to  me.  The  blow  that  Mr. 
Clarkson  received  has  evidently  unsettled  his  never 
too  strong  brain." 

Darrell  glanced  over  the  letter.  He  had  no  need 
to  read  it  again,  for  every  word  was  burned  into  his 
memory.  When  he  looked  up  his  face  was  very 
dark. 

"  You  don't  understand  this  ?"  said  he. 

"Not  at  all." 

"Well,  I  will  explain  it  to  you.  This  man  Clark- 
son,  led  on  by  your  suggestions  and  advice,  has  been 
lying  about  my  wife." 

The  queen-like  air  that  all  of  Laura  Casson's  circle 
knew  so  well  came  back  to  her. 

**Do  you  believe  that  ?"  she  asked,  imperiously. 

"  I  do." 

**  And  on  that  evidence  ?"  She  pointed  to  the  let- 
ter. 

M  On  that  evidence,"  he  replied. 


262  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEMD. 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

"  You  can  say  this  to  me,  because  I  am  a  woman  i 
If  I  were  a  man  you  would  not  dare.  Edmund  Dar- 
rell,  I  have  been  mistaken  in  you  !  Some  day  I  will 
force  you  to  admit  that  you  have  slandered  me  !" 

The  eyes  that  beamed  upon  him  filled  with  sudden 
tears,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"  This  man  Clarkson  has  forced  his  love  upon  me 
all  the  summer,"  she  went  on,  rapidly.  "  I  have 
done  everything  I  could,  short  of  actual  insult,  to 
discourage  him,  for  until  this  hour  I  believed  my 
heart  wholly  the  property  of  another  man.  When 
he  came  here  and  told  of  his  discoveries  at  Auburn, 
I  thought  it  only  my  duty  to  introduce  him  to  you. 
The  blow  he  has  had  has  unsettled  his  reason 
beyond  doubt.  He  says  in  this  letter  that  Mr.  Mor- 
daunt  was  his  assailant,  though  he  has  given  a  con- 
trary statement  to  the  press.  He  now  seems  to  be 
laboring  under  the  delusion  that  your  wife,  because 
she  has  treated  him  kindly,  is  innocent  of  the  crimes 
which  he  formerly  imputed  to  her.  He  is  an  unfor- 
tunate fellow  whose  maunderings  may  deserve  your 
pity,  but  certainly  not  your  credence.  You  have 
believed  him  in  preference  to  me.  Let  it  be  so." 

Quite  confused,  Darrell  somehow  found  his  hat 
and  cane,  and  left  the  house  with  a  consciousness 
that  his  head  was  in  a  whirl. 

But  the  letter  that  Clarkson  wrote  was  still  tightly 
grasped  in  his  hand. 


"I   AM   A    WIOKBD    WOMAN. "  263 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"I    AM    A     WICKED     WOMAK." 

Quite  unconscious  of  the  catastrophe  that  he  had 
precipitated,  George  Clarkson  convalesced  at  the 
Darrell  homestead.  Dr.  Stevens  finally  said  that  he 
could  leave  in  a  week,  information  which  Mrs.  Dar- 
rell received  in  silence.  Since  she  had  been  made 
aware  of  the  perfidy  of  her  guest  she  had  never 
entered  his  room.  She  could  not  trust  herself  to 
speak  to  him,  for  she  had  a  nature  that  was  wholl* 
a  stranger  to  pretense.  The  first  outburst  of  indig- 
nation, under  which  she  had  resolved  to  order  him 
forth  at  once,  gave  way  to  a  more  reasonable  frame 
of  mind.  As  a  sick  man,  he  should  have  the 
hospitalities  of  her  house  as  long  as  he  needed 
them.  As  an  individual  he  was  wholly  repugnant 
to  her,  and  she  could  not  do  her  feelings  the  violence 
to  come  again  into  his  presence. 

He  noticed  that  he  saw  her  no  more,  but  he  had 
no  reason  to  suspect  the  cause,  and  consequently 
gave  the  matter  little  thought.  What  troubled  him 
most  was  that  he  received  no  answer  to  the  letter  he 
had  sent  Miss  Casson.  He  gave  himself  a  thousand 
fears,  which  did  much  to  retard  his  recovery.  Ten 
lines  from  her,  thanking  him  for  what  he  had  done, 
or  suggesting  something  else  that  he  might  do, 
would  have  abundantly  repaid  him  for  those  weary 
days.  He  had  no  one  in  whom  he  could  confide. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait.  The  fortnight 
which  he  passed  in  the  house  seemed  endless,  but  at 


264  HEX   HUSBAND'S   FRIEND. 

last  a  day  came  when  he  was  allowed  to  be  assisted 
into  a  carriage — for  he  was  still  weak — and  be 
driven  to  the  railway  station,  where  he  was  placed 
in  a  compartment  of  a  Pullman,  engaged  for  him  in 
advance.  He  took  along  the  nurse  who  had  at- 
tended him,  and  as  the  train  sped  towards  Boston, 
he  felt  a  new  animation  stirring  in  his  veins. 

None  of  his  relations  had  taken  the  pains  to  visit 
him,  though  a  cousin  had  written  a  few  perfunctory 
expressions  of  regret  at  his  "accident."  Clarkson 
was  not  a  favorite  in  his  family.  His  unorthodox 
views  had  made  a  breach  between  him  and  the  others 
that  time  had  only  sufficed  to  widen.  There  was  no 
warmer  welcome  awaiting  him  at  Boston  than  that 
of  his  landlady,  whose  interest  in  him  would  have 
ceased  abruptly  had  the  price  of  her  rooms  not  been 
forthcoming.  Except  for  the  presence  in  the  Hub 
of  the  Universe  of  one  person,  he  would  as  lief  have 
been  journeying  toward  any  other  city  in  the  world. 
To  meet  Laura  Casson — that  was  the  hope,  the  joy, 
the  fruition  of  aU  things  !  And  yet,  why  had  she 
not  written  and  answered  his  letter  ? 

That  evening  he  sent  her  another  passionate  note, 
written  with  all  the  ardor  that  was  in  his  heart,  and 
begging  her  to  appoint  the  earliest  possible  hour  for 
their  meeting.  He  excused  her  in  advance  for 
neglecting  the  reply  to  the  other  letter,  but  conjured 
her  not  to  keep  him  longer  in  suspense.  In  response 
to  this  his  messenger  brought  a  card  marked  simply, 
44  Friday  evening,  nine  o'clock."  He  could  not  under- 
stand the  laconic  quality  of  the  answer,  nor  the 
reason  for  the  three  days'  delay  which  it  necessitated  , 
but  he  tried  to  content  himself  with  the  prospect,  and 
Improved  so  rapidly  as  the  time  approached  that  be 


*t  IX  A  WICKED  WOMAN.*  £66 

had  no  hesitation  in  making  the  visit  without  tak- 
ing his  attendant  with  him. 

Bidding  his  driver  remain  until  his  call  was 
finished,  he  walked,  leaning  on  his  cane,  up  the  steps 
of  Miss  Casson's  residence.  Once  in  the  parlor,  he 
Could  hardly  restrain  himself  in  the  joy  of  anticipa- 
tion. He  waited  with  excited  nerves  for  the  advent 
of  the  woman  he  loved — ay,  worshipped  ! — above  all 
else  on  earth.  When  at  last  the  door  opened  and  she 
appeared,  he  rose  and  took  a  step  toward  her,  with 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure  on  his  lips.  But  as  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face,  the  cry  of  joy  was 
stifled.  He  stood  riveted  to  the  spot,  unable  to 
proceed,  to  retreat,  or  to  speak  a  word. 

That  quick  look  at  Laura  Casson's  face  had  shown 
him  in  one  second  that  there  could  be  nothing  more 
between  them.  Why,  he  knew  not.  But  it  was 
beyond  all  doubt. 

"  You  have  done  me  the  honor  to  call,**  she  said^ 
with  bitter  irony.  "  Proceed  with  your  business." 

In  his  weak  condition  he  could  not  remain  stand* 
ing  any  longer,  and  he  sank  again  into  his  chair. 

**  I  have  been  very  sick,"  he  articulated,  feebly. 

"  You  should  have  died  !"  she  answered,  harshly. 
**  Yes,  that  night  you  were  assaulted,  before  you  ha<t 
time  to  blast  the  lives  of  others  !" 

He  felt  that  it  could  do  him  no  good — he  knew 
that  all  he  could  say  would  be  useless — but  he  had 
a  great  longing  to  know  what  had  caused  this. 

u  Whoever  I  may  have  harmed,  Miss  Casson,"  he 
•aid,  "  I  have  been  true  to  you." 

"You  have  ruined  me!"  she  cried.  "You  have 
acted  the  part  of  an  imbecile  !  The  only  man  in 
this  world  who  is  worthy  of  a  moment's  thought, 
bat  been  torn  from  me  by  your  asininity  I" 


866  H£R  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

His  brain  reeled.  She  was  beside  herself  with 
rage.  «•  The  only  man  I"  What  could  she  mean  ? 

44  One  of  us  is  certainly  insane,"  said  he,  pressing 
his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "  I  do  not  know  what 
you  are  talking  about." 

She  stood  looking  down  on  him,  as  if  he  were 
fome  creeping  thing  that  she  disdained  to  crush 
with  her  heel. 

"You  wrote  me  that  idiotic  letter,  did  you  not? 
And  Edmund  Darrell  read  it  !  What  could  I  say  to 
him  in  explanation  ?  You  had  not  veiled  anything  ! 
It  was  all  as  plain  as  the  noonday  sun.  He  believes 
me  guilty  of  plotting  to  destroy  the  fair  fame  of  his 
wife  !" 

Clarkson  stared  at  her  like  one  stricken  with  mad- 
ness. 

"  Believes  you  !'*  he  echoed.  "  And  you  have  not 
done  it — is  that  your  meaning  ?" 

"  Never  !  I  did  not  tell  you  to  invent  lies  !  All  I 
asked  you  to  do  was  to  watch.  Your  letter  made  it 
seem  to  him  that  I  had  been  your  partner  in  a  con- 
spiracy. It  was  infamous  in  you  to  write  it,  with  all 
the  dangers  to  which  correspondence  is  subject  I  It 
destroyed  my  only  hope,  my  only  joy  in  existence !" 

He  heard,  but  he  could  not  believe  his  senses. 

*'  You — you  loved  him  !" 

"  Loved  him  /"  She  repeated  the  word  with  a  deep 
groan  of  anguish.  "  Loved  him  !  I  worshipped 
the  trees  under  which  he  walked  !  I  would  have 
kissed  the  soil  his  shoes  had  pressed  !  And  now  he 
is  gone  from  me  forever  " 

He  was  too  stunned  to  rise  to  the  angry  mood 
that  would  have  been  natural  to  him. 

"  I  want  to  understand,"  he  ventured,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice.  "  What  was  it  you  wished  ?  Surely  ray 


*I  AM   A  WICKED  WOMAS. 

only  desire  was  to  do  as  you  would  have  me.  1 
thought — I  thought — " 

She  interrupted  him  sharply. 

**You  thought  !  How  could  I  help  what  you 
thought !  You  thought,  no  doubt,  that  after  he  had 
got  free  from  his  wife,  that  would  widen  the  breach 
between  him  and  me  !" 

He  saw  for  the  first  time  the  trap  into  which  she 
had  planned  to  lead  him. 

**You  made  a  pitfall  for  me  and  have  fallen  into 
it  yourself,"  he  said,  gently.  "  But,  though  I  can- 
not comprehend  the  reason,  I  feel  no  vindictiveness 
toward  you.  I  would  serve  you  now  as  willingly  as 
ever,  if  I  knew  the  way." 

She  heard  him  with  profound  surprise.  She  had 
expected  a  terrible  exhibition  of  wrath  to  match  hei 
own. 

**  You  would  serve  me  ?"  she  echoed. 

**  Yes,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  with  my  life !  You  do 
not  love  me.  That  knowledge  makes  my  future 
a  blank.  I  placed  all  my  hopes  on  your  love.  Now 
nothing  is  left.  Tell  me  anything  I  can  do  to  make 
you  happier  and  it  shall  be  done." 

Miss  Casson  studied  the  face  before  her,  into 
which  a  new  brightness  had  come.  It  was  a  revela- 
tion of  the  heights  to  which  self-sacrifice  can  rise. 

**  Bring  Edmund  Darrell  back  to  me,"  she  said. 
"Convince  him  that  he  has  wronged  me  in  his 
thoughts.  Make  him  what  he  was  before.  There  \» 
nothing  else  you  can  do  for  me." 

He  heard  her  impassirely. 

**  How  shall  I  accomplish  this  ?" 

"You  never  can  accomplish  it  f  she  groaned. 
MBut  you  can  tell  him  that  you  wrote  that  letter 
while  yaur  brain  was  affected.  You  can  swear  to 


268  HE*  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

him  that  the  Insinuations  which  rt  contains  agatest 

me  are  unfounded." 

"  And — and  the  wife  ?" 

He  waited  like  a  slave  for  her  orders.  She  hesi- 
tated for  a  long  time. 

"What  you  saw,"  she  said,  finally — "  you  saw." 

"  Laura,"  said  Clarkson,  dropping  unconsciously 
into  the  use  of  her  first  name,  "  we  misunderstood 
each  other  the  last  time.  Let  us  not  do  it  again.  I 
saw — nothing" 

She  walked  to  a  window  that  was  partially  open, 
and  shut  it. 

"  You  were  going  to  swear  to  something  in  the 
divorce  court,"  she  said,  when  she  returned. 

"  If  I  had  thought  it  would  have  pleased  you,"  he 
replied,  fixing  his  swollen  eyes  upon  her,  **  I  would 
have  sworn  that  I  saw  her  commit  murder." 

His  dog-like  submissiveness  impressed  her  power- 
fully, but  she  did  not  dare  to  trust  his  judgment 
again. 

"  You  have  spoiled  everything  by  that  miserable 
letter !"  she  answered.  "  A  divorce  is  now  out  of 
the  question.  All  that  you  can  do  is  to  write  to  him 
taking  the  blame  from  me  ;  and  then — and  then — you 
can — disappear." 

Clarkson  waited  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  mean  die  /"  he  asked.  "  If  you  do,  say 
so." 

She  uttered  a  little  cry  of  terror. 

44  No,  no  !  I  only  mean  that  you  should  go  away, 
where  you  cannot  be  found  for  a  number  of  months. 
Go  across  the  sea,  to  some  place  where  you  wju  not 
be  likely  to  meet  people  who  know  you." 

He  bowed  submissively. 

"I  will  do  it.     Is  there  anything  more f 


*  I  AX  A  WICKED  WOMAN."  269 

*«That  is  all,"  she  said,  thoughtfully.  «  Except, 
for  as  you  say  we  must  have  no  misunderstandings 
now,  there  is  to  be  no  *  reward'  thought  of  this 

time." 

"  I  know,"  he  replied. 

"  I  can  never  love  you." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  answered.  "As  sure  as  I 
am  that  I  shall  love  you  as  long  as  I  draw  breath." 

No  human  being  could  have  helped  being  moved 
by  the  plaintiveness  of  his  voice  and  the  depth  of 
his  devotion.  Miss  Casson  found  herself  stammer- 
ing a  request  that  he  would  forgive  her  for  the 
epithets  she  had  used. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  forgive  you,"  he 
replied.  "  You  love.  I,  who  also  love,  understand 
all  that  you  felt  when  you  thought  your  lover  lost. 
If  I  can  return  him  to  you  I  will,  and  then — I  will 
go— far  away." 

Something  in  the  dreamy  tone  with  which  he 
uttered  this  alarmed  her. 

"You  will  not  think  of  anything  like — like 
suicide?"  she  said,  uneasily.  "I  should  feel  as  if  it 
were  my  fault.  Promise  me  not  to  do  that." 

He  rose,  leaning  on  his  cane. 

"  I  will  live — if  I  can,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  But  I 
should  prefer  it  the  other  way.  Since  it  is  your 
wish,  I  will  try  to  live.  I  shall  go  to  Europe  at  first. 
My  address  will  be  at  Baring  Brothers.  There  may 
be  something  I  can  do  for  you  again.  If  there  is, 
you  have  only  to  write." 

He  walked  cautiously  toward  the  door,  and  Miss 
Casson  followed  him,  wondering  at  the  change  that 
had  come  over  her.  When  he  turned  at  the  thresh- 
old, and  was  about  to  say  good-bye,  she  bent  her 
forehead  for  him  to  kiss. 


270  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIETO. 

•'  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  she  said,  tremulously, 
as  she  raised  her  eyes  again.  "  I  am  a  very  wicked 
woman,  and  I  have  treated  you  cruelly." 

"  Do  not  say  that,"  he  answered,  speaking  with 
difficulty.  "  You  are  not  wicked — you  are  only  in 
love.  It  was  kind  of  you  to  give  me  that  kiss.  I 
shall  not  forget  it." 

He  went  his  way,  and  the  unhappy  woman  threw 
herself  on  the  floor  and  wept  convulsively. 

Before  Clarkson  slept  that  night  he  wrote  for  a 
long  time.  He  wanted  to  send  a  letter  to  Darrell 
that  would  be  the  most  effective  possible,  and  he  put 
the  things  he  had  to  say  into  many  forms  before  they 
satisfied  him.  This  is  what  he  finally  sent: 

"  MY  DEAR  DARRELL  : 

"  Though  somewhat  recovered  physically  from  the 
injuries  I  received  in  Auburn,  I  find  that  there  has 
been  a  mental  shock  which  it  will  take  a  much  longer 
time  to  cure.  My  brain  frequently  wanders,  and  I 
find  myself  harboring  hallucinations.  During  my 
illness  at  your  house  I  must  have  done  some  strange 
things.  This  evening  I  met  our  mutual  friend,  Miss 
Casson,  who  told  me  I  had  written  her  a  letter  in 
which  it  was  implied  that  she  and  I  had  combined 
to  injure  a  member  of  your  family  by  false  reports. 
Nothing  could  be  farther  from  the  truth.  If  1 
wrote  anything  like  that,  it  was  certainly  when  I  was 
temporarily  deranged.  All  that  I  told  you  was  true, 
and  I  am  sure  Miss  Casson  had  no  unworthy  motive 
in  asking  me  to  bring  so  serious  a  matter  to  your 
attention.  I  also  find  that  I  am  reported  in  the 
papers  as  saying  that  I  did  not  know  who  my 
assailant  was,  when  quite  contrary  is  the  fact.  Act- 


MOKDAUNT   RETURNS   TO   AUBURW.  971 

ing  under  the  advice  of  my  physician  I  shall  start  at 
once  for  a  distant  place,  where  I  hope  to  wholly 
recover  from  my  disabilities.  To  go  infco  court  or  to 
be  troubled  about  any  similar  matter  might  be  very 
injurious  and  I  do  not  dare  to  risk  it.  I  think  I  am 
writing  this  in  one  of  my  lucid  moments,  and  I  hope 
if,  in  my  madness,  I  have  done  any  one  harm,  this 
explanation  will  undo  it. 

"  Your  friend, 

"  GEO.  CLARKSON." 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

MORDAUNT  RETURNS  TO  AUBURN. 


Darrell  left  Miss  Casson's  house  with  Clark- 
letter,  he  went  straight,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  Mr. 
Arnold's  office.  The  lawyer  read  it  over  and  wa3 
forced  to  admit  that  it  was  a  very  suspicious  looking 
document. 

"You  wouldn't  get  very  far  toward  a  divorce  with 
that  in  the  hands  of  the  court,"  he  remarked,  sen- 
tentiously.  "  But  how  are  we  to  know  where  these 
plots  and  counterplots  begin  and  end  ?  All  that 
glitters  is  not  gold,  Mr.  Darrell.  I  can  see  a  dozen 
possibilities  about  this  letter  beside  the  one  that 
appears  on  its  face." 

Darrell's  brows  contracted  as  he  inquired  what  the 
lawyer  meant  by  that. 

**  Well,  let  us  look  at  it  for  a  minute.  How  did 
you  come  to  the  knowledge  that  this  letter  was— 


371  m»  HUSBAHD'S  FRIEND. 

might  be,  we  will  say — in  existence  ?  From  your 
wife's  attorney.  People  do  not  often  expect  the 
fairest  of  advice  from  the  counsel  of  their  opponent 
in  a  case.  It  was  natural  that  I  should  suspect  the 
motives  of  Mr.  What's-His-Name — Mr.  Jacobs — but 
I  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  seeing  what 
card  he  was  playing,  so  I  consented  to  come  to  Bos- 
ton and  go  through  this  performance.  As  he  told 
us,  there  was  a  letter,  and  we  have  it  in  our  hands, 
though  I  must  admit  not  by  a  strictly  legal  method. 
I  have  read  the  letter,  and  it  looks  very  bad  for  Miss 
Casson  and  very  favorable  for  your  wife.  But  that 
does  not  prove  in  the  least  that  it  is  a  genuine  docu- 
ment." 

"For  heaven's  sake  tell  me  what  you  are  driving 
at  !"  exclaimed  Darrell.  "  And  do  it  without  any 
unnecessary  delay." 

Mr.  Arnold  smiled  quietly,  with  the  air  that  a  man 
should  have  who  looks  back  on  thirty  years  of  prac- 
tice at  the  bar. 

"  Softly,  Mr  Darrell,  softly.  I  must  choose  my 
words  and  my  manner  of  speech,  in  order  to  put  this 
matter  before  you  as  I  think  it  requires.  We  must 
look  at  several  theories,  and  a  hypothetical  case  will 
illustrate  one  of  them,  perhaps,  better  than  anything 
else.  Supposing  that  this  Clarkson  wished  to  clear 
your  wife  of  suspicion,  could  he  have  taken  a  better 
way  ?  Why  should  he  wish  it,  you  will  ask.  Why, 
he  has  lain  for  a  fortnight  in  her  house,  attended  by 
her  and  her  servants.  Gratitude  may  have  over- 
come every  other  feeling.  Indeed,  sir,  something 
much  stronger  than  gratitude  may  have  developed 
in  his  breast  during  those  trying  days." 

The  listener  drew  a  breath  of  pain.  Was  this 
lawyer  going  to  accuse  the  whole  world  of  falling  ill 


MOBDAUOT  BBTUaNS  TO  AUBURN.  373 

love  with  a  woman  whose  husband  had  not  been 
able  to  develop  a  passion  for  her  after  nine  years  of 
married  life  ? 

"Do  not  forget,  Mr.  Arnold,"  he  said,  "that  it 
was  on  the  evidence  of  this  man  that  I  came  at  first 
to  suspect  my  wife.  He  must  have  a  very  compli- 
cated set  of  motives,  if  what  you  suggest  is  true." 

"  Exactly.  And  so  do  most  men,  if  you  analyze 
them  carefully.  Now,  tell  me  all  you  know  about 
him." 

'*  Very  little,"  was  the  reluctant  admission.  "  Miss 
Casson  introduced  him  to  me.  It  was  not  necessary 
that  I  should  know  him  intimately  to  believe  his 
straightforward  story.  Men  have  been  hanged,  I 
suppose  you  know,  on  the  evidence  of  beggars." 

He  threw  this  in  as  a  bit  of  self-justification,  and 
was  rather  pleased  at  its  sound. 

"  But  now  that  you  have  this  letter,  which  seems 
to  alter  the  complexion  of  things  so  much,  what  do 
you  propose  to  do  ?" 

Darrell  responded  with  some  impatience  that  this 
was  exactly  what  he  had  come  to  the  lawyer's  office 
to  find  out. 

"You  want  a  divorce,"  said  Mr.  Arnold,  reflectively. 
*  The  question  is,  how  to  reach  that  aim  in  the 
easiest  and  most  efficacious  manner." 

Darrell  glanced  up  quickly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  corrected.  "  I  do  not  want  a 
divorce  that  is  based  on  the  slightest  misconception 
of  the  main  facts  at  issue.  My  wife  and  I  are  not 
mated.  It  is  useless  to  deny  that.  If  she  would 
consent  to  a  severance  of  the  tie  that  binds  us,  I 
shoxild  gladly  avail  myseU  of  it.  But;  while  there  is 
the  least  doubt  of  the  tales  I  have  heard  against  hefj 
I  shall  proceed  no  farther." 


27*  HER    HUSBAND  8    FRIEND. 

The  lawyer  replied  that  this  was  very  praiseworthy, 
and  just  what  he  should  have  expected  from  a  gen- 
tleman of  Mr.  Darrell's  high  standard  of  honor  , 
but  his  disappointment  was  none  the  less  evi- 
dent. 

"  In  that  view  of  the  case,  everything  must  rest  in 
abeyance  for  the  present,"  he  said.  "For,  as  I 
understand  it,  you  think  the  letter  you  obtained  this 
morning  opens  up  a  reasonable  doubt." 

"Decidedly." 

"How  would  a  special  detective  do?"  said  Mr 
Arnold. 

Darrell  opened  his  eyes. 

"  For  what  purpose  ?" 

"  He  could  watch." 

"  My  wife,  do  you  mean  ?" 

Mr.  Arnold  assented. 

"  Not  if  it  was  the  last  and  only  resource,"  was 
the  firm  reply.  "  I  will  never  pay  any  one  to  dog 
her  steps.  But  if  one  could  follow  Clarkson " 

The  lawyer  eyed  his  client  with  admiration. 

"  That's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  said. 

So  it  happened  that  from  the  minute  that  George 
Clarkson  left  Auburn,  he  was  shadowed  by  one  of 
the  keenest  men  that  could  be  found  in  Boston. 
When  he  visited  Miss  Casson  the  detective  marked 
the  feverish  impatience  with  which  he  crept  from 
his  carriage  to  her  door.  When  he  came  forth 
again,  the  same  lynx-eyes  saw  his  weary  look,  his 
still  more  feeble  steps.  And  when  his  letter  came 
the  next  morning,  it  tallied  so  completely  with  the 
report  of  the  detective  that  it  seemed  pervaded  with 
*n  air  of  absolute  truth.  Added  to  this  there  soon 
came  the  news  that  Clarkson  had  bought  tickets 


MOBDAUNT  RETURNS  TO  AUBURH.       875 

for  France,  and  a  few  days  later  his  sailing  was 
announced. 

Mr.  Arnold  held  various  conferences  with  Darrell 
during  these  days,  but  he  was,  to  tell  the  truth, 
fully  as  much  troubled  as  his  client.  Both  of  them 
agreed  that  divorce  proceedings  could  not  longer  be 
thought  of  on  the  basis  they  had  taken,  and  Darrell, 
tired  of  the  whole  affair,  worn  out  with  the  strain 
upon  him,  went  back  to  his  counting-room  and 
tried  to  drive  away  his  mental  trouble. 

But  when  the  evening  came  he  missed  his  visits  to 
Miss  Casson.  Nine  years  of  habit  are  not  eafily 
overcome  in  a  month. 

In  spite  of  everything  they  kept  up  the  mutual 
direction  of  the  magazine,  she  sending  him  articles 
to  read,  and  he  returning  them  with  his  comments 
written  on  slips  of  paper  affixed.  Sometimes  brief 
notes  were  necessary,  but  they  were  always  couched 
in  business  phrase.  Miss  Casson  was  too  wise  to 
attempt  anything  more  at  present.  She  hoped  time 
would  bring  all  around  right  again,  and  was  glad 
that  the  periodical  gave  her  an  excuse  for  continu- 
ing even  the  present  unsatisfactory  relations  with 
him. 

Her  large  circle  of  acquaintances  and  followers 
gossipped  interminably  over  as  much  of  the  affair 
as  they  had  knowledge  of.  The  fact  that  Darrell 
had  a  wife  and  children  was  no  longer  a  secret,  as 
the  newspapers,  which  had  been  full  of  the  Clarkson 
assault  case,  had  not  omitted  to  t;ivc  abundant  pub- 
licity to  the  most  minute  circumstances  connected 
with  it.  That  matters  between  him  and  his  wife 
were  somewhat  strained  was  also  apparent.  And 
when  there  was  added  to  this  the  fact  that  he  came 
no  more  to  Miss  Casson 's  receptions,  there  wa*  ? 


27C  HKB  HUSBAND'S 

genuine  flutter  among  the  circle  that  congregated 
there. 

No  one,  not  even  Mrs.  St.  John,  with  her  boasted 
intimacy,  had  presumed  to  ask  a  question,  though 
they  were  all,  to  use  their  own  expression,  "  dying 
to  know  "  what  was  the  matter.  The  general 
opinion  was,  of  course,  favorable  to  Miss  Casson,  as 
her  worshippers  were  quite  blind  in  their  devotion  to 
her.  Miss  Symonds  had  expressed  it  perfectly  when 
she  had  said,  in  response  to  Mr.  Rossborough's 
question — 

"  Suspicion  !     Of  Laura  Casson  !" 

The  hostess  herself  bore  the  increased  scrutiny  to 
which  she  was  subjected  with  remarkable  equanimity. 
Though  quite  the  paragon  of  entertainers  she  had 
always  showed  a  very  quiet  manner  in  public.  She 
was  like  an  actress  whose  mind  is  torn  by  most  dis- 
tressing news,  but  who  must  proceed  with  her  part  in 
the  play  as  though  nothing  unusual  has  oca  rred. 
Her  receptions  had  never  been  as  fully  attended  as 
they  were  that  autumn.  All  the  regular  comers  con- 
tinued to  be  present  ;  many  who  had  dropped  off 
took  the  opportunity  of  coming  again  ;  and  not  a 
few  new  people  suddenly  discovered  that  they  had 
long  felt  an  interest  in  Miss  Casson  and  her  theories, 
and  persuaded  friends  to  introduce  them. 

To  all,  old  and  new,  she  was  the  same  dignified, 
obliging  lady,  and  the  events  narrated,  instead  of 
injuring  her  standing  as  a  social  power,  improved  it 
in  a  marked  degree.  Darrell's  continued  absence 
was  reckoned  by  most  of  her  friends  a  point  in  her 
favor,  as  they  supposed  that  his  marriage  had  been 
hitherto  unknown  to  her. 

Harold  Mordaunt  soon  learned  through  Mr.  Wai* 


MOBDAUITT  RETURNS  TO  AUBUEJt  977 

lace,  and  also  from  Mr.  Upham,  that  the  Grand  Jury 
had  failed  to  indict  him.  The  absence  of  the  party 
aggrieved  in  Europe,  and  the  readiness  of  many  wit- 
nesses to  swear  to  his  statement  that  he  did  not 
know  his  assailant,  made  Sheriff  Dickenson  confess 
that  the  case  might  as  well  be  given  up  now  as  later, 
Officer  Barnett  suffered  for  some  time  from  appre- 
hension on  account  of  Darrell's  threats  to  sue  him 
for  false  arrest  ;  but  when  time  wore  on  he  began  to 
conclude — which  was  the  fact — that  the  threat  had 
either  been  forgotten  or  the  intention  given  up. 
Mordaunt  went  to  New  York,  not  caring  to  return  to 
Boston  or  Auburn,  and  passed  a  listless  time  there, 
He  wanted  very  much  to  see  Mrs.  Darrell  once  more* 
and  have  a  final  explanation  with  her,  but  he  did  not 
see  any  feasible  way.  He  felt  that  he  ought  not  to 
begin  a  correspondence  while  she  and  her  husband 
were  talking  of  a  divorce,  even  if  she  had  given  him 
the  right  to  do  so.  He  knew  that  she  was,  in  all 
probability,  without  a  single  trustworthy  adviser, 
and  yet  he  feared  that  a  friend  like  himself  would  at 
this  time  be  worse  than  none  at  all. 

Weeks  were  passed  in  these  unsatisfactory  reflec- 
tions. He  learned  from  Landlord  Upham,  in  whom 
he  had  come  to  have  implicit  confidence,  that  noth* 
ing  new  had  transpired  concerning  the  trouble 
between  Darrell  and  his  wife.  The  husband  had 
not  again  visited  Auburn,  and  she  had  never  left  the 
place,  even  for  a  day.  The  landlord  also  wrote  that 
Mrs.  Darrell  went  out  much  less  than  usual,  and 
seemed  anxious  to  avoid  company.  So  far  as  he 
could  learn,  she  had  not  made  up  with  her  aunt,  Miss 
Burton,  An  air  of  impenetrability  pervaded  the 
homestead,  where  she  lived  with  her  children,  and 
the  four  servants  had  been  reduced  to  one. 


278  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

During  those  days  Mordaunt  tried  conscientiously, 
more  than  once,  to  read  his  heart.  He  searched 
diligently,  to  see  if  there  was  a  single  unworthy 
thing  in  the  deep  affection  which  he  felt  for  the 
abandoned  wife,  but  he  failed  to  find  it.  He  would 
have  wished  to  have  her  nothing  but  what  she  was — • 
loyal,  self-sacrificing,  good  and  true.  Could  there 
be  anything  wrong  in  wanting  to  make  her  life 
brighter  ?  He  had  given  her  happier  hours  in  the 
summer  that  was  past,  and  who  had  been  the  worse  ? 
Pacing  Broadway,  night  after  night,  from  Union 
Square  to  Fifty-ninth  street,  he  tried  to  think 
whether  it  would  be  best  to  go  to  her,  tell  her  how 
much  she  had  his  sympathy,  and  proffer  his  assis- 
tance, if  there  was  any  way  she  could  accept  it. 

At  last,  unable  to  bear  it  longer,  he  decided  to  go. 
Having  a  little  business  to  see  to  in  Boston,  he  took 
himself  first  to  that  city.  On  the  evening  of  his 
arrival,  he  encountered  Mr.  Rossborough  jon  Wash- 
ington street,  and  through  him  learned  for  the  first 
time  of  the  rupture  between  Darrell  and  Miss  Cas- 
son. 

Anxious  to  hear  everything  possible  concerning 
the  affair,  he  invited  Rossborough  to  dine  with  him. 
When  the  champagne  had  loosened  the  tongue  of  his 
guest  he  was  put  in  possession  of  all  the  news  and 
gossip  that  he  could  retail. 

"And  \vhat  do  people  say?"  he  asked,  when  all 
the  salient  points  of  the  narrative  had  been  given. 

"  Well,"  said  Rossborough,  "  they  say  many  things. 
The  general  opinion  is  that  Miss  Casson  declined  to 
receive  Darrell  when  she  learned  that  he  was 
married.  Clarkson  went  abroad  on  account  of  his 
injuries,  which  you  remember  they  at  first  ascribed 
to  you.  Though,  of  course,'"  he  added  in  a  burst  ol 


JtOBDAUJTT   BKTUKSS   TO    AUBUKBT.  279 

after-dinner  generosity  of  judgment,  "  nobody 
who  knew  you  believed  that." 

Mordaunt  toyed  with  his  wine  glass  and  let  Ross- 
borough  do  most  of  the  talking.  But  finally  he  said, 
feeling  that  it  was  necessary — 

"DarreH's  family  claim  him  now,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  his  voluble  guest.  "  He  hasn't 
left  the  city  once.  I  know  his  superintendent,  Mr. 
Parker.  It's  a  mighty  queer  affair  all  round." 

That  night  Mordaunt  searched  his  heart  again  and 
found  it  still  innocent  of  guile  ;  and  he  determined 
that  the  next  night  should  see  him  in  Auburn  if  he 
were  yet  alive. 

He  wrote  to  Landlord  Upham  to  meet  him  with  a 
carriage  at  Brixton,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  set  all  the 
talkers  in  Auburn  by  the  ears.  When  he  reached 
the  station  it  was  dark.  Jim  Brodie,  and  not  his 
employer,  waited  for  him,  explaining,  as  they  drove 
away,  that  Mr.  Upham  had  been  called  off  on  other 
and  imperative  business.  Though  grateful  to  Brodie 
for  the  service  he  had  once  rendered  him,  Mordaunt 
could  not  be  as  confidential  as  he  could  with 
the  landlord.  At  first,  as  they  rode  along,  they 
exchanged  only  commonplaces,  but  after  awhile 
Jim  got  to  talking  about  the  assault  case,  and  grew 
interesting.  He  related  the  entire  story  of  the 
morning  when  Mordaunt  escaped,  and  chuckled  with 
glee  as  he  told  of  the  discomfiture  of  Dickenson  and 
Jason. 

Mordaunt  grew  very  uneasy  as  they  approached 
the  Darrell  house.  The  stupendous  possibilities  of 
the  contemplated  interview  staggered  him.  He  did 
not  exactly  know  what  he  intended  to  say  or  do, 
but  he  could  not  doubt  that  the  visit  was  fraught 
with  great  moment.  He  began  to  think  that  he 


280  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

ought  to  have  written  to  apprise  her  of  his  inten- 
tion, but  it  was  too  late  for  that  now.  Be  it  for 
good  or  evil,  he  must  see  her  that  night. 

He  instructed  Brodie  to  wait  for  half  an  hour  in 
the  vicinity.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  if  he  did  not 
re-appear,  the  man  was  to  return  to  his  stable,  and 
expect  his  customer  to  reach  there  considerably 
later. 

"  Five  minutes  will  tell  how  I  shall  be  received," 
thought  Mordaunt.  "If  she  wishes  to  see  me,  our 
conversation  may  be  a  long  one." 

He  went  softly  up  the  steps,  and  pulled  the  bell 
with  so  light  a  touch  that  it  hardly  tinkled  at  all. 
But  the  little  sound  it  did  make  attracted  attention 
within,  for  some  one  was  soon  heard  approaching, 
and  a  moment  later  the  astonished  visitor  stood  face 
to  face  with — Mehitable  Burton  ! 

The  surprise  was  mutual,  but  Mordaunt's  trepi- 
dation was  much  the  greater. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered.  "  I  came  to 
see  Mrs.  Darrell.  Is  she — "  he  began  to  feel  a 
nameless  alarm — "she  is  not  ill  ?" 

Miss  Burton's  black  eyes  pierced  him  through  and 
through. 

"  Come  in/*  was  her  only  answer. 

She  led  the  way  to  the  parlor,  hobbling  more  than 
formerly,  with  her  heavy  cane.  He  wondered  that 
he  had  not  heard  and  recognized  the  sound  of  that 
stick  before  she  opened  the  door,  and  he  was  very 
much  afraid  he  should  have  run  away  had  he 
known  it  and  had  time.  She  handed  him  a  chair, 
and  sat  down  when  he  did. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Darrell  ?"  sbt 
asked. 

"That  is  rather  a  peculiar  question,  U  it  Mt  r" 


MOBDATTNT  RETURNS  TO   AUBURN.  281 

*  Ordinarily,  yes.     To-night,  no." 

He  hesitated,  feeling  surer  than  before  that  some- 
thing out  of  the  common  had  happened. 

"  Young  man,"  pursued  Miss  Burton,  "  you  will 
remember  that  I  told  you  once  that  you  were  on 
dangerous  ground.  Let  me  repeat  it  now.  You 
can  do  nothing  for  a  woman  who  has  trouble  with 
her  husband — nothing  but  what  will  injure  her  and 
yourself." 

"  Miss  Burton,"  he  replied,  more  firmly,  "  I  do  not 
know  by  what  authority  you  have  become  the 
guardian  of  Mrs.  Darrell,  toward  whom,  I  have 
reason  to  fear,  you  have  not  always  acted  the  kind- 
liest part.  My  errand  with  her  is  a  brief  one,  but  I 
cannot  intrust  it  to  you.  Will  you  oblige  me  by 
informing  her  that  I  am  here." 

The  maiden  lady  grasped  the  stick  she  held,  with 
a  convulsive  motion. 

"I  like  you,  young  man,"  she  said,  "and  I  don't 
know  why  unless  it  is  on  account  of  your  candor. 
Whatever  your  intention  was  in  coming — and  I 
am  not  going  to  say  it  was  a  wrong  one — you  have 
arrived  too  late.  Mrs.  Darrell  has  left  this  house, 
and  she  will  not  return." 

He  could  hardly  believe  her  ;  and  yet  why  should 
he  doubt  the  explicit  statement  ? 

"  Gone  !"  he  exclaimed.     "  To  her  husband  ?" 

*'Do  you  think  I  would  be  here  if  she  had  !"  cried 
the  woman,  angrily.  "  No  !  My  niece  has  gone  as 
far  as  possible  away  from  him,  as  she  ought  to  have 
done  years  and  years  ago.  I  have  bought  the  place 
and  all  of  the  furnishings  which  she  did  not  take. 
Do  you  think  I  gave  her  that  money  to  go  to  him  ? 
No,  no  I  she  has  se^.n  his  face  for  the  last  time,  I 
trust  r 


282  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

Why  was  he  so  glad  to  hear  that  ?  He  knew  that 
he  ought  not  to  be. 

"Tell  me  only  this,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  Was  she 
well  when  she  went  away,  and  do  you  think  she  will 
be  happy  ?" 

Miss  Burton's  stern  face  relaxed  under  the  pathos 
Df  his  manner. 

"  She  was  not  well,"  she  replied.  "  How  could 
she  be  after  all  that  has  been  on  her  mind  for  the 
last  year  ?  When  she  gets  to  a  new  place  and  this 
trouble  leaves  her,  there  is  no  reason  why  she  should 
not  be  happy.  She  has  youth,  and  she  will  not  want 
for  money.  No,"  she  added,  as  he  looked  up, 
"  9|he  will  need  none  of  yours.  As  long  as  she  keeps 
from  her  husband  I  shall  see  her  needs  supplied.  If 
she  is  ever  divorced  from  him,  I  will  have  my  will 
made  out  again  in  her  favor.  Till  then,  she  knows 
what  to  expect." 

He  leaned  over  toward  her,  resting  his  arm  on  the 
table  that  stood  between  them. 

"  Be  careful  that  you  do  not  carry  this  feeling 
against  the  poor  girl  into  the  grave  with  you,"  he 
said,  earnestly.  "  As  you  truly  say,  I  cannot  now 
offer  her  my  aid.  I  wish  I  could.  But  why  do  you 
not  do  her  full  justice  ?  As  matters  are,  she  is  only 
certain  of  an  income  while  you  live.  Will  it  make 
smoother  your  dying  pillow  to  know  in  your  last 
moments  that  you  have  condemned  one  of  your 
flesh  and  blood  to  want  ?" 

The  old  woman  shut  her  mouth  firmly  together. 

"It  was  her  own  choice;  she  made  it,"  she 
answered.  "  And  she  knows  that  I  never  relent." 

He  struck  the  table  with  his  hand  and  their  eyes 
met. 
'     *  If  Mr%.  Darrell  or  her  children  are  ever  without 


"  I    LOVE    YOU,    ANNA    OABRKLL  V9  28$ 

means — are  ever  deprived  of  their  natural  protectors 
— they  shall  have  me  to  look  to  !"  he  said.  "  I  will 
stand  between  them  and  your  vindictiveness." 

"  Dangerous  ground,  young  man,  dangerous 
ground  !"  repeated  Miss  Burton,  though  she  did 
not  appear  half  as  angry  as  he  expected  she  would. 
"The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  dismiss  my  niece 
and  her  troubles  from  your  mind" 

He  rose  and  stood  before  her. 

"  If  you  will  promise  to  execute  a  new  will  in  her 
favor  without  restrictions,  I  will  try  to  do  it,"  he 
replied. 

"Come,  come!"  she  expostulated,  "you  are 
asking  too  much.  It  really  is  not  your  affair." 

"  But  I  shall  make  it  mine,  in  the  event  I  speak 
of,"  he  answered  firmly.  "  Good-night,  Miss 
Burton." 

The  half  hour  had  not  expired  when  Jim  Brodie 
wondering  what  had  happened,  drove  Mordaunt 
silently  b^«sk  to  Brixton. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"I  LOVE  YOU,   ANNA   DARRELL  T 

T*  t  step  which  Mrs.  Darrell  had  taken  had  been 
conf  jmplated  by  her  for  some  weeks.  After  the 
ope  J  rupture  with  her  husband  and  the  circumstan- 
ce* connected  with  it,  Auburn  became  exceedingly 
d'  tasteful;  and  although  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
f  tsid<*  world,  she  felt  that  it  would  be  better  to 


284  Hfflt  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

venture  out  Into  !t  than  to  stay  where  every  scene 
recalled  the  bitterness  through  which  she  had  passed, 

Darrell  knew  his  wife  very  little  indeed  when  he 
imagined  that  she  had  found  even  partial  content  in 
the  life  to  which  he  had  so  long  doomed  her.  The 
fact  that  for  eight  years  no  word  of  complaint  had 
escaped  her,  only  showed  her  wifely  devotion  and 
her  pride  of  spirit.  She  could  never  have  teased  or 
cajoled  him  into  favoring  her  with  more  of  his  pres- 
ence ;  she  could  never  have  suggested  even  by  a 
look  that  he  ought  to  take  her  with  him  on  his 
travels.  The  love  which  she  had  given  him  had 
burst  forth  spontaneously  in  her  young  heart,  and 
nothing  but  the  absolute  cruelty  of  events  could 
have  lessened  its  fervor.  In  all  those  years  when 
she  hungered  and  thirsted  for  the  society  which  he 
denied  her,  she  suffered  as  only  a  deserted  woman 
can  suffer  and  made  no  sign. 

Laura  Casson's  fling  that  such  a  sacrificing  wife 
did  not  deserve  a  more  faithful  husband  shows  well 
the  difference  between  the  two  women.  There  are 
fires  that  burn  with  a  quiet  and  steady  light ;  there 
are  others  which  flash  their  beams  far  out  into  the 
evening.  But  let  no  man  say  that  the  latter  is  nec- 
essarily the  better  flame ! 

One  of  those  evenings  of  the  early  winter,  just  as 
Ephraim  Burton  was  about  to  exti  -:l^h  his  lamp, 
— for  the  time-honored  hour  of  retiring  had  nearly 
arrived — Anna  Darrell  knocked  at  her  aunt's  door 
It  is  only  following  the  manner  of  Auburn  speech  to 
state  the  occurrence  in  this  form,  as  nobody  ever 
alluded  to  her  Uncle  Ephraim  as  owning  even  a 
roof  over  his  head.  Miss  Burton's  always  stern  face 
darkened  as  the  form  cm^ed  her  threshold,  for  she 
had  supposed  the  relations  between  her  niece  and 


*  I    LOVE    YOU,     ANNA    DARRELL  JW  285 

herself  severed  for  good.  But  she  could  not  resist 
the  sad  smile  with  which  Anna  greeted  her,  nor  the 
outstretched  hand,  and  she  was  soon  put  in  posses- 
sion of  the  cause  which  led  to  the  visit. 

Anna  was  about  to  leave  Auburn  and  had  thought 
it  only  right  to  say  good-bye  to  those  who  were  her 
sole  relations  there. 

Miss  Burton,  always  suspicious,  thought  at  first 
that  there  was  in  this  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  her 
niece  to  re-ingratiate  herself  in  the  Burton  family, 
with  a  view  to  securing  the  money  of  which  Ephra- 
im's  latest  will  had  deprived  her.  Anna's  quiet 
bearing  and  evident  lowness  of  spirits  soon,  however, 
dispelled  this  fear.  She  said  she  was  going  away — 
she  did  not  exactly  know  where — and  she  wanted 
her  uncle  to  take  charge  of  her  house  and  sell  it  as 
soon  as  he  could  obtain  a  suitable  offer.  She  had 
enough  money  to  last  her  a  little  while,  and  perhaps 
when  it  was  gone  she  could  get  something  to  do. 
All  of  which  showed  her  prudent  aunt  that  she  was 
about  as  fit  to  go  off  alone  as  little  Ethel  would  be, 
and  she  told  her  so. 

"  But  I  cannot  stay  here,"  said  Anna.  M  You  your- 
self have  advised  me  to  go." 

"  Not  without  money  !"  retorted  the  aunt.  "  You 
ought  to  secure  your  divorce  and  a  handsome  allow 
ance.  I  hear  that  your  husband  is  getting  rich.  He 
can  afford  to  give  you  a  large  sum." 

Anna  would  not  listen  to  her. 

**  Not — after — after  what  he  accused  me  of,  dear 
aunt.  I  could  never  take  his  money  while  be 
believes  that." 

At  this  Miss  Burton  poured  forth  the  vials  of  her 
wrath,  denouncing  Edmund  as  a  villain  jf  the  deep 
eat  dye,  unworthy  the  Jea^t  charitable  thought 


886  HEK  HUSBAND'S  FRIEKD. 

"  He  ought  to  support  his  children,"  she  said.  *'I 
tell  you  you  must  make  him  do  it." 

But  Anna  was  inexorable.  She  had  changed 
her  mind  on  this  point.  For  once  Miss  Burton  had 
met  a  spirit  as  uncontrollable  as  her  own.  The  wife 
was  willing,  anxious  to  go  away,  and  never  wanted 
to  meet  her  husband  again.  His  money  she  would 
not  take.  That  point  was  settled,  and  the  spinster, 
after  a  long  debate,  was  fain  to  be  content.  She 
felt  that  it  was  a  victory  to  secure  the  separation. 
Perhaps  the  rest  would  be  reached  in  time. 

The  result  of  the  conference  was  an  agreement 
that  Ephraim  should  take  the  house  and  pay  her  a 
certain  sum  for  it.  It  was  necessary  that  she  should 
take  money  enough  with  her  to  live  on  for  some 
time,  and  probable  customers  for  such  a  place  were 
not  numerous.  Ephraim  had  an  idea  that  he  might 
dispose  of  it  to  a  party  who  wanted  to  establish  a 
young  ladies'  school.  The  house  could  be  enlarged 
with  wings  so  as  to  do  very  well  for  that  purpose. 
Not  a  word  was  to  be  said  in  Auburn  of  Mrs.  Dar- 
rell's  plans.  The  things  she  wanted  to  take  with 
her  were  to  be  sent  off  by  instalments,  and  she  was 
to  make  her  exit  with  her  children  without  exciting 
the  least  suspicion  of  her  purpose. 

Everything  was  carried  out  as  planned,  and  Anna 
had  not  been  gone  an  hour  that  night  when  Mor= 
daunt  called  at  her  door. 

She  went  at  first  to  Boston,  where  she  stopped  at 
a  hotel  until  the  morrow,  intending  then  to  continue 
her  journey  to  a  small  town  in  the  western  part  of 
Maine.  No  child  ever  made  a  more  novel  trip. 
She  had  never  ridden  five  miles  on  a  steam-road  in 
her  life.  The  towns  which  she  passed  seemed  in- 
numerable, and,  lit  up  by  gaslights  as  they  were, 


"  I    LOVE    YOU,     ANNA    DARBBLL 1"  2S7 

larger  than  she  had  ever  conceived  possible.  When 
•he  rode  through  the  streets  of  Boston  she  was  over- 
powered with  the  rush  and  bustle,  and  felt  her  heart 
sink  at  the  thought  that  somewhere  in  the  midst 
of  it  all  was  the  man  who  had  sworn  to  love,  honor 
and  cherish  her  till  death. 

When  the  next  day  came  she  did  not  take  the 
early  train  on  the  Boston  &  Maine  road  as  she  had 
intended.  A  new  and  overpowering  desire  had 
come  upon  her.  She  wanted  to  see  the  woman  who 
could  hold  for  so  many  years  the  husband  whom 
she  had  failed  to  impress.  She  had  determined, 
during  the  long  hours  of  a  night  when  little  sleep 
visited  her  eyes,  to  try  to  see  Laura  Casson. 

She  knew  the  address  well.  That  day  that  she 
read  it  on  Clarkson's  letter  it  was  impressed  indelibly 
on  her  mind,  and  no  ordinary  lapse  of  time  could 
efface  it.  She  knew  nothing  about  the  city,  but  she 
ascertained  that  cabs  could  be  obtained,  and  shortly 
after  breakfast  she  left  her  little  ones  with  a  maid 
at  the  hotel  and  was  driven  to  Miss  Casson's  house. 

It  was  a  wild  idea.  She  did  not  even  know  what 
she  was  going  for.  She  felt  nothing  except  that 
strong  wish  to  see  her  rival.  She  could  not  imagine 
what  she  should  say  when  she  got  there.  But  go 
she  must. 

The  editress  of  the  New  Light  was  astonished  to 
hear  that  she  had  a  caller  who  would  not  send  up 
her  card.  Thinking  it  might  be  some  canvasser  on 
whom  it  was  not  worth  while  to  waste  much  time 
she  told  the  girl  to  show  the  lady  into  her  editorial 
room,  where  she  was  writing  at  the  time. 

As  Mrs.  Darrell  entered  the  room  the  maid  with* 
drew. 


J88  mot  HUSBAND'S 


"What  can  I  do  for  your  asked  Miss  Casson, 
politely. 

"  Nothing." 

It  was  a  dignified  answer,  but  certainly  a  very 
strange  one.  Miss  Casson,  who  had  risen  from  her 
chair,  looked  at  her  visitor  with  some  doubt  of  her 
sanity.  But  the  handsome  lady  who  stood  before 
her  gave  no  other  indications  of  a  deranged  mind, 
and  she  dismissed  the  half  formed  suspicion. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  "  that  you  wish  to  see 
me." 

"It  is  true." 

"About  —  about  anything  in  particular?" 

"  No,  just  to  see  you.     That  is  all." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Miss  Casson  that  the  lady 
might  be  one  of  her  unknown  admirers. 

"You  had  heard  of  me  ?"  she  suggested. 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  name?" 

"  Yes.     It  is  Anna  Darrell." 

Miss  Casson  took  several  paces  backward  and 
leaned  heavily  on  her  desk.  Long  weeks  of  mental 
distress  had  made  her  very  nervous.  There  was 
something  quite  alarming  in  this  apparition  with  the 
large  eyes  and  laconic  speech. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  almost  shrieked.  "  What 
do  you  intend  to  do  ?'* 

"  I  only  wanted  to  see  you  —  to  see  what  you  were 
like.  In  eight  years  I  could  not  make  my  husband 
love  me.  You  held  him  here.  I  wanted  to  discover 
what  there  was  about  you  that  he  preferred  to  me. 
I  do  not  see  anything.  You  are  not  as  fair  as  I. 
You  are  no  taller  or  better  proportioned.  Your  voice 
is  not  as  sweet.  How  did  you  do  it  ?" 

Each  sentence  was  uttered  with  the  utmost  de- 


*  I    LOVE    YOU,    ANNA    DARKELL  I"  989 

liberation,  and  there  was  twice  the  ordinary  pause 
between  them.  Miss  Casson  was  much  disturbed. 

"You  have  heard  idle  rumors,  I  fear,"  she  said. 
**  Mr.  Darrell  and  I  have  merely  edited  a  magazine 
together.  His  family  affairs  are  nothing  to  me. 
And  for  a  long  time  now  he  has  not  even  called  here. 
It  is  six  weeks  since  I  last  saw  him." 

Anna  looked  at  her  with  unbelieving  gaze. 

"Why  do  you  say  this?"  sha  asked.  "He  can 
rtever  be  anything  more  to  me.  I  arn  gomg  far 
away  with  my  children — his  children.  You  taught 
him  to  believe  me  untrue.  Do  not  deny  it ;  I  saw 
the  letter  that  man  wrote  you.  But  how  you  hare 
attracted  him," — she  looked  Miss  Casson  over  from 
head  to  feet — "  I  do  not  know." 

Then  she  went  her  way,  and  an  hour  later  a  phy- 
sician's carriage  stopped  in  front  of  the  house.  Miss 
Casson  was  quite  ill  from  the  shock,  and  had  to  sus- 
pend her  literary  labors  for  some  days. 

It  was  a  month  before  Mordaunt  found  Mrs. 
Darrell.  During  all  that  time  he  had  persisted  in 
his  endeavors  to  discover  her  retreat.  At  last  he  hit 
upon  a  clue  which  revealed  it  to  him.  When  he 
knocked  at  the  door,  the  children  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  the  one  servant — a  girl  of  fourteen — had  gone 
out  to  spend  the  evening  with  her  parents.  For  a 
moment  Anna  stood  at  the  threshold  looking  as  if 
she  was  about  to  swoon. 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  see  me  ;  I  will  go,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice.  "  And  yet,  I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

''Come  in,"  she  responded,  huskily.  "I  was  sur- 
prised— that  is  all.  I  am  very  giad  to  see  you,  very 
glad  indeed." 


990  mcB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

H«  entered,  closed  the  door  behind  him,  folded  his 
arms,  and  ignored  the  chair  she  offered. 

"Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding!"  he  cried, 
passionately.  "  Vou  shall  never  say  that  I  came 
under  false  pretenses.  I  love  you,  Anna  Darrell  !" 

She  looked  frightened  and  drew  a  little  away  from 
him. 

"It  has  been  months  since  I  have  seen  you  !"  he 
went  on,  blindly.  "  God  knows  how  I  have  been  able 
to  endure  it !  As  long  as  I  could  visit  you,  I  could 
bear  the  rest.  But  when  I  was  nearly  desperate  and 
went  to  your  house — and  found  that  you  we-e  gone 
— then  I  learned  what  it  was  to  endure  !  I  have  done 
nothing  since  but  search  for  you.  I  thought  perhaps 
your  eyes  would  brighten  with  joy  to  see  mine.  I 
thought — " 

She  put  up  her  hand  to  stay  him. 

"  I  am  a  wife.     Do  not  forget  that." 

"  A  wife  !"  he  repeated,  bitterly.  "  And  what  a 
wife  !  You  have  the  yoke  of  the  ox  without  his  food 
and  shelter.  Your  master  has  loaded  you  with  bur- 
dens and  then  thrust  you  aside.  You  no  longer  owe 
him  any  allegiance.  You  know  that  my  heart  is 
breaking  for  you,  that  my  arms  are  outstretched  to 
receive  you,  and  you  can  talk  to  me  of  him  /" 

"  I  only  know,"  she  answered,  slowly,  "  that  i 
must  not  listen.  During  all  the  months  that  we 
have  been  acquainted,  this  is  the  first  time  you  have 
ever  uttered  a  word  to  me  that  I  ought  not  to  hear. 
You  can  spare  me  much  pain  by  not  doing  so 
again." 

He  took  the  chair  at  last  and  as  he  sat  down  he 
drew  a  long  breath  of  desperation. 

"Be  it  so!"  be  saiJ,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"  Sttcrifcce  your  nfe>  your  youth,  your  bloom,  to  this 


•  I    LOT*    YOU,     A2WA    DARKKLL  I"  991 

heartless,  unappreciative  man  whom  you  still  wish 
to  call  husband.  Sacrifice  me!  I  am  of  no  account 
compared  with  what  you  are  pleased  to  think  your 
duty.  Sacrifice  everything,  but  him!  Throw  away 
the  next  eight  years,  as  you  have  the  last,  and  the 
next  eight  after  that.  No  one  can  compel  you  to  do 
otherwise.  Forget  that  I  ever  counselled  you  dif- 
ferently. And  now,  farewell !" 

"Oh,  not  so  soon!"  she  answered,  as  he  was 
about  to  rise.  "I  am  sure  you  are  very  welcome 
here.  Tell  me  what  has  happened  since  I  left 
Auburn,  for  I  have  heard  nothing.  What  did  my 
aunt  say  to  you  ?" 

"  She  told  me  to  dismiss  you  from  my  mind,** 
he  replied,  gloomily.  "  But  I  could  not  do  it.  I 
should  never  ask  you  anything  inconsistent  with 
honor.  You  can  easily  procure  a  divorce  that  will 
make  you  as  free  as  though  you  had  never  wedded. 
Afterward,  if  you  love  me,  you  can  become  mine. 
Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  this  terrible  struggle !"  he 
broke  forth.  "  You  do  love  me  !  I  know  it !  Is  it  a 
greater  sin  to  dissolve  this  marriage  that  hurts  and 
galls  you,  than  to  maintain  it  when  the  result  is  the 
ruin  of  two  lives  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes  n  a  sudden 
ecstacy  of  pain. 

"  Have  mercy  !"  she  ejaculated,  feebly.  "  You 
are  the  stronger,  and  it  is  not  well  that  you  should 
tempt  me.  I  have  not  lived  as  much  in  the  world 
as  you,  but  instinct  tells  me  what  is  right.  I  have 
chosen  the  difficult  path.  Every  word  you  speak 
makes  it  harder  to  tread." 

Tell  me  one  thing."     He  leaned  toward  her  and 
his  breath  fanned  her  brow.     **  You  lov«  »e     lj 


mva  HER   HUBBAKD-B 

Her  honest  eyes  met  his,  and  all  the  answer  te 

needed  was  in  their  depths. 

"  I  am  not  as  good  as  I  ought  to  be,"  she  said, 
gently.  "  You  came  into  my  life  when  I  was  very 
lonely.  I  grew  to  like  you  before  I  knew  what  I 
was  doing.  If  it  was  wrong,  I  shall  be  punished. 
But  when  I  discovered  it,  I  did  all  I  could.  I  came 
away,  hoping  to  forget  you,  hoping  you  would  for- 
get me.  I  cannot  do  this  all  alone.  You  must  help. 
If  I  do  love  you,  it  is  as  hard  for  me  as  for  you  that 
we  must  be  separated.  Let  us  bear  the  load 
together." 

He  caught  eagerly  at  the  word. 

"  Together  !"  he  echoed.     "  If  we  only  could  !" 

"  I  mean  mutually,"  she  stammered.  "You  your 
share  and  I  mine." 

"And  how  long  must  this  last?"  he  inquired. 
u  Is  it  to  be  endless  ?  Supposing,"  he  hesitated, 
**  supposing  that  death  intervenes  ?" 

Mrs.  Darrell  started  at  the  suggestion. 

"  Never,  by  the  remotest  implication,  could  I 
promise  myself  to  another  man  while  my  husband 
Is  alive,"  she  answered.  "You  know  my  sentiments. 
You  ask  me  if  I  love  you.  Secure  in  my  determina- 
tion to  do  what  is  right  I  may  admit  even  that.  If 
I  could  have  foreseen  the  end  earlier  I  could  have 
saved  us  both  from  what  we  suffer  to-day.  But 
our  only  safety  is  in  remaining  far  apart.' 


tax  TOUCH  OP  uv*. 
CHAPTER  XXHT, 

•THE  TOUCH  OP  LI«L 

He  made  another  move  as  if  to  rise,  but  sank  back 

in  his  chair  and  was  silent  for  several  minutes. 

"You  are  willing  that  I  should  come  and  see  you 
sometimes  ?"  he  said,  when  he  broke  the  silence. 

"Would  it  be  best?" 

He  suddenly  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  her  and 
folded  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Anna !  Can  nothing  move  you  ?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  can  go  on  forever  under  this  mistaken  sense  of 
Duty  and  never  awake  to  a  knowledge  of  what  you 
are  doing?  You  are  a  woman  in  years.  You  have 
been  called  a  wife.  You  have  borne  children.  But 
never  till  now  have  the  arms  of  a  real  love  encom- 
passed you.  In  the  innocence  of  childhood  you 
made  a  contract  with  Edmund  Darrell  and  he  made 
a  like  one  with  you.  He  was  to  love  and  cherish 
you  till  death.  You  know  he  never  fulfilled  one 
iota  of  his  bargain,  while  for  these  eight  years  you 
have  been  true  to  yours.  Now  that  he  has  deserted 
you,  wholly  and  heartlessly,  let  him  go  out  of  your 
mind.  Forget  that  he  lives.  Give  your  life,  your 
soul,  your  love  to  one  who  would  give  up  all  else  he 
holds  dear  to  purchase  you  the  slightest  happiness. 
You  are  wavering  already.  You  feel  that  this  is  the 
way  your  course  should  lie.  Anna,  my  darling ! 
Touch  my  lips  just  once  and  I  will  take  it  for  your 
answer !" 

Ihe  did  not  struggle  in  his  arms,  as  he  half  antici- 
pated sh«  would ;  but  her  great  eyes  were  bent  •& 


994  HER  •DBBAXD'S  FWEFIX 

him  and  he  read  in  them  a  deeper  pain  than  he  had 
imagined  she  could  feel. 

"You  know  so  much  more  of  the  world  than  I," 
was  her  response,  "  that  I  want  you  to  answer  me  a 
question.  Is  it  right,  from  your  own  standpoint,  that 
you  should  embrace  me  like  this  ?  Would  it  be 
right — as  the  people  you  know  interpret  right — if  / 
•hould  give  you  my  lips  to  kiss  ?" 

He  broke  from  her  and  paced  the  floor  like  a 
savage. 

"  No,  no  r  he  cried.  "  It  is  not  right !  But  I  am 
no  longer  responsible  for  what  I  do.  My  love  has 
carried  me  away  from  myself;  and  after  all,  who  can 
tell  what  right  is  ?  I  have  embraced  you.  Who  is 
the  worse  for  it?  If  I  should  kiss  you,  who  would 
Suffer  ?" 

The  evident  distress  under  which  he  labored  told 
on  the  young  wife.  Her  sympathetic  nature,  aided 
by  the  high  regard  which  she  had  for  him,  strained 
her  resolutions  to  their  utmost  tension.  In  spite  of 
the  reflection  that  his  arms  ought  not  to  be  about 
her,  there  had  been  bliss  in  the  moments  when  she 
felt  them  there.  Her  heart  had  beaten  more  rapidly 
at  the  proposal.  She  knew  that  the  longer  the  con- 
ference lasted  the  harder  it  would  be  to  resist  him. 

"  We  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  summon  all  our 
courage,"  she  said,  going  to  where  he  stood.  "We 
must  not  act  like  children,  who  cry  for  what  they 
cannot  have.  Men  and  women  have  gone  to  the 
scaffold — even  to  the  stake — with  smiling  faces.  Let 
us  be  very  brave  now  and  say — good-bye." 

Her  voice  faltered  at  the  final  word  and  he  very 
gently  put  his  arm  about  her  again. 

"  It  may  be  right,  Anna,  it  may  be  wrong,  but  I 
love  you.  It  may  b«  right,  it  may  be  wrong,  but  I 


THB    TOUCH    OP    LBPS.  JW 

cannot  give  you  up.  The  strength  to  wait  until  you 
can  be  legally  my  wife  is  all  that  I  shall  be  abla  to 
find.  The  strength  to  go  forth  leaving  you  tied  to 
a  man  for  whom  you  have  no  reason  to  care,  a  man 
who  has  forfeited  any  claim  that  he  may  ever  have 
had,  will  never  come.  Apply  for  your  divorce  on 
the  ground  of  desertion.  Your  husband  has  offered 
to  give  you  that  without  a  contest  It  will  take  six 
months,  perhaps  a  year,  before  you  are  free.  Must 
I  wait  longer  than  that  for  you  ?" 

His  words  moved  her  powerfully.  She  looked 
him  full  in  the  face.  A  sensation  as  if  her  brain  wa» 
steeped  in  poppies  overwhelmed  her. 

"If  you  should  kiss  me  once — just  once  before  you 
go — what  harm  could  it  do  ?"  she  repeated,  in  the 
tones  of  a  sleep  walker.  She  took  his  face  between 
her  hands.  **  Just  once— on  the  lips,"  she  continued, 
in  the  same  dreamy  tone.  "Just— once  I" 

Something  rushed  across  his  mind,  like  a  cyclone. 
He  saw  with  horror  the  pit  on  the  edge  of  which 
they  stood.  Summoning  all  his  strength  he  took  a 
step  backward.  **  No !"  he  cried,  releasing  his  hold 
of  her.  •*  You  were  right,  and  I  was  wrong.  Until 
you  are  free  I  ought  not  to  touch  you.  Your  Aunt 
Burton  told  me  the  truth.  I  am  indeed  on  danger- 
ous ground.  I  want  your  promise  to  be  my  wife,  or  at 
least  I  want  you  to  say  that  you  will  apply  at  once 
for  a  separation  from  your  husband.  In  the  mean- 
time we  must  not  trifle  with  ourselves.  To-day  you 
are  married.  A  kiss  from  you  to  me  means  infi- 
delity." 

He  ground  his  teeth  together  as  he  said  it,  for  he 
realized  the  inapropriateness  of  the  disagreeable 
word. 

"Why,  you  are  my  brother,1*  replied  Anna, her 


vole*  trembling  at  the  tudden 

«I  may  give  you  a  sisterly  kiss,  may  I  not  r" 

He  straightened  himself  up,  with  the  new  strength 
that  had  come  to  him. 

"  No,  I  am  not  your  brother,"  he  said.  "  I  am  your 
passionate  lover — I  am  your  husband  that  is  to  be. 
Up  to  this  hour  /  have  never  done  anything— -you 
have  never  done  anything — to  make  us  look  back  on 
our  acquaintance  with  a  blush.  We  must  not  begin. 
It  takes  so  little  to  cause  regret  for  a  lifetime.  I 
know  you  are  going  to  be  my  wife.  You  have  not 
said  it,  but  it  will  have  to  be.  The  first  kiss  I  will 
give  or  take  from  you  shall  be  on  our  wedding  morn- 
ing.' 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  shrank  about  the  should- 
trs  as  if  his  words  hurt  hen 

44 1  was  right  in  the  first  place,"  she  replied,  as  nt 
finished.  "  My  husband  lives  and  I  am  his  till  death. 
It  is  true  I  would  have  kissed  you.  Do  not  mis- 
apprehend me  on  that  account.  I  hold  your  friend- 
ship very  dear.  I  care  enough  for  you  to  marry  you 
If  I  were  free,  but  not  enough  to  take  the  step  yo» 
suggest  to  free  myself.  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  make 
you  understand,  but  I  will  try.  If  you  were  not  in 
existence,  I  would  apply  for  my  divorce  to-morrow. 
It  is  because  I  am  placed  in  the  position  of  seeking 
it—not  for  the  purpose  of  dissolving  my  present 
union,  but  to  make  one  with  you — that  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  do  it." 

He  contemplated  her  silently  for  some  time,  trying 
to  think  what  it  was  best  to  say. 

"Let  us  be  honest  with  each  other,"  he  said  at 
last  "  We  can  afford  to  be  that  Answer  my  ques- 
tions truthfully,  as  you  hope  for  heaven," 


She  bowed  her  head. 

"And  X  love  you.    You  no  longer  tare  for 

husband r 

She  indicated  a  negative 

"  Still  you  propose  to  continue  in  tne  chains  at 
matrimony  with  him  as  long  as  you  both  shall  live  T 

"  I  must,"  she  faltered. 

«  And  if  he  should  decide,  as  he  has  the  right  to 
do,  to  live  with  you  again-—" 

"  Oh,  no  (  not  that !  never !"  she  exclaimed. 

He  smiled  ironically. 

-You  do  not  know  the  iaw,w  be  Mi&  "Htttft 
compel  you." 

« But  he  would  not!" 

*  How  can  you  tell  r" 

Her  cheek  blanched  at  the  thought,  and  whes 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  again,  there  was  a  look  of 
terror  in  them. 

« I  wanted  to  know  what  your  intentions  were/* 
h«  said.  "  You  purpose  retaining  of  your  husband 
nothing  but  his  name.  What  good  will  that  do  you  ? 
Is  it  a  better  name  than  mine  r** 

She  did  not  answer,  and  he  persisted,  hoping  to 
change  her  view. 

"  You  intend  to  remain  his  wife,  in  name  only. 
Supposing  he  decides  to  rid  himself  of  even  that 
claim.  You  have  deserted  him.  He  need  only  goto 
the  court  and  show  that  fact  to  procure  his  freedom. 
That  will  leave  you  with  a  tinge  of  disgrace,  which 
you  would  not  have  if  you  took  the  initiative." 

"  Disgrace  ?"  she  repeated,  vaguely. 

"  Yes.    You  will  be  in  a  blamable  position,  which 
you  will  not  deserve.    Then,  if  you  marry 
people  will  say—' 


tM  HXR    BUBBAV1/S 

"But  I  should  not  marry  again,"  the  replied. 
"Then  people  could  say  nothing." 

He  saw  that  he  had  used  the  wrong  argument,  and 
he  returned  to  the  original  proposition. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  apply  for  the  divorce, 
all  of  your  friends  will  believe  you  justified.  Every- 
body in  Auburn  has  given  you  their  sympathies  all 
these  years.  Darrell  has  violated  every  agreement 
that  he  made  with  you.  Why  are  you  so  afraid  of 
causing  him  uneasiness  r° 

She  trembled  visibly. 

*  I  wish  I  had  had  more  experience,"  she  said,  re- 
flectively. "  I  can  do  things  from  impulse  and  for- 
give myself,  but  I  dread  a  deliberate  act  that  may  be 
full  of  momentous  consequences.  I  have  no  doubt 
my  attitude  surprises  you.  A  few  moments  ago  you 
clasped  me  in  your  arms  and  I  did  not  protest.  A 
moment  later,  had  you  not  stopped  me,  I  would  have 
given  you  my  lips  to  kiss.  I  had  no  time  tor  reflec- 
tion. In  your  embrace  I  found  peace.  In  your  kiss 
I  knew  was  ecstacy,  the  joy  I  had  never  known  and 
now  never  shall  know.  I  would  have  accepted  it 
then,  without  a  thought  of  consequences.  But  to 
apply  coolly  to  a  judge,  to  wait  month  after  month, 
to  appear  in  a  court  room  and  recite  my  story — for 
that  I  have  neither  the  strength  nor  the  patience. 
If  Edmund  would  do  it  instead,  I  should  be  glad. 
If  there  is  any  odium  I  will  bear  it,  though  the  peo- 
ple who  have  known  me  all  my  life  will  understand 
how  little  I  am  to  blame.  And  yet,  to  marry  after* 
wards,  how  could  I  r" 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  held  out  his  hand  for  a 
farewell 

"It  is  evident,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "that  when  yo» 
talk  of  love  yoo  do  not  understand  in  th«  least  what 


TH*    TOUCH    07    LIPS.  299 

the  word  means,  I  shall  be  better  able  to  bear  my 
loss  when  I  remember  how  little  you  are  willing  to 
sacrifice  for  it." 

All  the  tide  of  passion  that  she  had  held  back 
swept  over  Anna  Darrell  and  bore  her  onward  like  a 
flood.  She  threw  her  rounded  arms  around  Mor- 
daunt's  neck  and  strained  him  to  her  bosom. 

"  I  love  you  more  than  you  can  ever  love  me  !" 
she  cried.  "  Try  as  I  may  I  cannot  conceal  it.  Tell 
me  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  can  bear  disgrace,  the 
upbraidings  of  my  conscience,  anything  except  to 
lose  you  !" 

Forgetting  what  he  had  said  so  short  a  time  before, 
he  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

"Write  to  Mr.  Jacobs,"  he  whispered,  "before  you 
go  to  bed  to-night,  telling  him  to  institute  pro- 
ceedings immediately." 

"  I  will,"  she  answered,  brightly.  "  Let  me  get  the 
paper  now,  and  you  shall  tell  me  what  to  say." 

She  opened  the  writing  desk  and  sat  down  to  it, 
but  he  hesitated  to  dictate  the  words.  It  seemed 
awfully  like  a  plot. 

"There  is  no  need  for  me  to  word  your  communi- 
cation for  you,"  he  said,  bending  tenderly  over  her 
shoulder.  "All  you  want  is  a  simple  statement  that 
you  wish  a  separation  for  desertion  and  as  soon  as 
possible.  Ask  him  how  long  it  will  take  if  there  is 
no  opposition." 

She  looked  quite  happy  and  raised  her  lips  to  his 
again. 

**  And  where  are  you  going  to  be  ?"  she  asked. 
*'I  must  write  and  tell  you  his  answer." 

**I  will  return  here  a  week  from  to-night,"  he 
replied. 

She  frowned  prettily. 


806  out  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

*  A  week  r    Oh,  that  is  a  very  long  time  I" 

*'How  we  have  changed  in  the  last  five  minutes  !*' 
he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  she  laughed.  "I  have  tasted  something 
which  makes  me  another  creature.  I  did  not  knovr 
the  touch  of  your  lips  would  be  so  intoxicating.  I 
am  drunk,  Harry,  drunk  with  my  love  for  you  !" 

He  felt  a  certain  horror  creeping  through  his  veins 
at  the  change  that  was  in  her — this  woman  whom  he 
had  adored  for  her  faith  and  loyalty,  even  while  he 
cursed  the  unhappy  ties  that  bound  her. 

And,  though  he  kissed  her  again,  he  left  her  with 
more  misgivings  than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

"IT   IS  TOO   LATE,   IDMUND." 

Engrossed  in  his  business,  Edmund  Darrell  knew 
none  of  these  things.  The  question  whether  his 
wife  was  or  was  not  faithful  had  never  been  settled 
in  his  mind.  She  had  elected  to  go  her  way,  and 
allowed  him  to  go  his,  which  he  believed  relieved 
him  of  all  responsibility  for  her  future  action.  As 
to  the  past,  his  main  thought  ab^ut  it  was  that  it 
was  very  disagreeable.  His  marriage  had  been  a 
grand  mistake.  He  had  no  desire  to  risk  another 
error  of  the  same  sort  and  therefore  did  not  pine 
for  greater  freedom  than  he  possessed.  He  had 
nothing  left  but  his  theories  and  his  business,  and 
just  at  this  time  there  was  a  particular  reason  why 
the  latter  demanded  his  undivided  attention. 


"  IT   19  TOO   LATE,   IDICUITD."  901 

When  he  had  perfected  the  Invention  which  he 
confidently  believed  would  bring  him  a  fortune,  he 
had  had  to  call  upon  capital  other  than  his  own  to 
put  it  properly  before  the  world.  So  evident  did  it 
seem  that  immense  returns  must  ensue  that  he  had 
not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  interesting  a  number 
of  gentlemen  who  were  on  the  lookout  for  such 
opportunities.  A  company  was  chartered  with  a 
capital  stock  of  $500,000,  one-fifth  of  which  was 
actually  paid  in.  Darrell's  socialistic  attitude  was 
quite  opposed  to  the  modern  methods  of  doing  busi- 
ness, but  he  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection 
that  there  was  no  other  way  to  accomplish  his  ends, 
and  that  he  should  conscientiously  use  the  fortune, 
when  it  was  acquired,  in  promoting  the  cause  he 
cherished. 

It  happened,  however,  at  about  the  time  of  his 
open  rupture  with  his  wife,  that  a  suspicion  arose  as 
to  the  complete  originality  of  his  invention.  A 
solicitor  who  had  been  deputed  to  obtain  the 
patents  in  Sweden  reported  that  a  similar  process 
had  been  already  registered  there.  Considerably 
agitated  at  this  news,  Darrell  could  not  content  him- 
self with  the  slow  vehicle  afforded  by  the  mails,  but 
after  consulting  with  his  directors,  sailed  for 
Europe  to  give  the  matter  his  personal  attention. 

On  his  arrival  at  Stockholm  he  found  things  even 
worse  than  he  had  anticipated.  The  vital  principle 
that  he  had  relied  upon  had  undoubtedly  been  dis- 
covered by  the  Swedes,  and  they  had  even  had  a 
factory  in  operation  upon  the  product  for  more  than 
a  year. 

His  first  thought  was  to  buy  them  out  and  amal- 
gamate the  two  concerns.  But  the  Scandinavians 
wer«  tn  mo  hurry  to  accept  his  offer.  They  saw,  as 


502  HEK  HUSBAND'S  FRIXND. 

clearly  as  he  did  himself,  that  he  was  in  their  power, 
and  they  rejected  his  proposals  as  fast  as  he  made 
them.  His  directors  at  home,  when  they  learned 
the  state  of  the  case,  were  furious.  They  accused 
him  of  obtaining  their  money  under  false  pretenses, 
and  announced  their  intention  of  winding  up  the 
company  under  process  of  law,  in  order  to  recover 
what  percentage  they  could  of  the  amount  they  had 
invested. 

Stung  to  the  quick  by  these  things,  Darrell  did 
not  know  what  course  to  pursue.  A  year  before  he 
would  have  turned,  without  a  question  of  the  result, 
to  a  friend  who  had  plenty  cf  capital  and  who 
would  certainly  have  aided  him — Harold  Mordaunt. 
This  was  no  longer  to  be  thought  of,  and  he  knew 
of  no  one  else  on  whom  he  could  depend.  Capital 
uninfluenced  by  confidence  or  friendship  is  the  most 
wary  of  all  the  birds  that  fly.  There  was  not  in 
Darrell's  veins  one  drop  of  swindler's  blood,  and  he 
could  not  have  asked  any  one  to  lend  him  a  dollar 
which  he  did  not  feel  morally  certain  he  should  be 
able  to  return  with  interest.  In  despair  at  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken,  he  finally  offered  himself  to  the 
Swedish  concern,  hoping  to  get  them  to  give  him  a 
share  in  exchange  for  what  he  could  do  in  the  rest 
of  Europe  and  the  United  States.  But  all  they 
wou'd  propose  was  a  very  moderate  salary  and 
contingent  commissions,  which  looked  very  vague 
indeed.  And  after  wasting  the  whole  of  the  win- 
ter, the  discouraged  man  shook  the  spring  mud  of 
Stockholm  from  his  feet  and  went  to  Paris, 

Among  the  letters  which  he  found  awaiting  him 
there  was  one  from  Laura  Casson.  In  it  he 
learned  that  she  had  seen  paragraphs  in  th«  news- 
papers which  led  her  to  fear  he  was  in  want  of 


"IT  IS    TOO   LATE,    EDMUND."  303 

money,  She  wrote  to  offer  him  all  that  she  had, 
and  expressed  the  hope  that  he  would  not  refuse  to 
accept  it.  "  As  you  know,"  she  said,  "  the  Professor 
bequeathed  me  in  his  will  the  savings  of  his  life- 
time. They  were  not  large,  but  such  as  they  are, 
they  are  yours.  I  can  cable  you  $25,000  at  a  day's 
notice,  and  more  later  if  you  require  it.  If  this  will 
save  you,  do  not  let  by-gones  stand  in  the  way.  I 
make  it  purely  as  a  business  proposition." 

He  read  the  letter  twice  and  then  he  fed  the  fire 
with  it.  Not  for  an  instant  did  it  enter  his  mind  to 
accept  her  proposal. 

Another  envelope,  which  had  travelled  long,  and 
reached  him  covered  with  post-marks,  contained  the 
legal  notice  that  his  wife  had  asked  for  a  divorce  on 
the  ground  of  desertion.  The  time  assigned  for  the 
hearing  was  near  at  hand.  He  thought  it  over  for 
an  hour,  and  decided  to  make  no  response.  Her 
allegation  was  true.  He  had  deserted  her.  If  she 
wanted  her  freedom,  why  should  she  not  have  it  ? 
What  did  she  want  it  for  ?  To  marry  Mordaunt, 
undoubtedly.  It  was  as  well  that  way.  Anna  was 
still  young.  She  would  probably  marry  some  one, 
and  why  not  Harold  ?  There  were  the  children.  Ill 
luck  was  pursuing  their  father  at  every  turn.  It 
was  something  to  know  that  they  would  not  have  to 
share  it. 

Several  weeks  went  by.  Darrell,  feeling  the  need 
of  husbanding  what  money  he  had  left,  lived  in  an 
inexpensive  lodging  in  the  Rue  Vaugiraud.  His 
sentiments  naturally  led  him  into  conferences  with 
the  Communistic  leaders,  who  were  hoping  for  some- 
thing to  occur  which  would  make  a  Republic  possi- 
ble, and  at  one  of  the  earliest  meetings  that  he 
attended  he  met  George  Clarkson. 


804  HUB  HUSBAXD'S  FSIEJTD. 

Tha  two  men  bowed  stiffly  to  each  other.  Neithtr 
of  them  felt  like  shaking  hands.  Darrell,  on  his 
part,  did  not  know  why  he  had  this  feeling,  but  he 
refrained  intuitively  from  anything  beyond  the  most 
ordinary  politeness.  After  that  they  met  quite  fre- 
quently, often  sitting  together  around  tables  on 
which  a  two-franc  dinner  was  spread,  or  in  little 
halls  up  dark  side  streets,  consulting — always  con- 
sulting— with  a  motley  crowd,  on  "the  situation." 
Clarkson  was  looking  very  badly.  His  face  was 
pale,  and  it  would  not  have  required  a  physician  to 
convince  one  that  the  limit  of  his  life  was  already 
fixed.  Among  the  conspirators,  for  such  the  associ- 
ates really  deserve  to  be  called,  none  were  more  in 
earnest  than  he. 

"I  shall  not  live  long,"  he  said  one  day,  "but  I 
hope  to  see  a  vacant  throne  in  France  before  I  die." 

No  one  in  the  circle  to  which  they  belonged 
imagined  that  the  two  Americans  had  known  each 
other  in  their  native  land.  They  never  came  or 
went  together.  They  never  engaged  in  mutual  con- 
versation, each  seeming  to  prefer  talking  to  others 
of  the  party,  which  was  usually  made  up  of  many 
nationalities.  It  would  have  surprised  any  of  their 
acquaintances  as  much  as  it  did  Darrell,  to  find 
Clarkson  at  his  door  one  evening,  and  hear  his  feeble 
voice  saying,  "I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

There  was  no  reason  that  Darrell  knew  why  he 
should  not  admit  this  man.  He  had  refrained  from 
intimacy  with  him  mainly  because  his  presence 
recalled  scenes  which  he  was  only  too  anxious  to 
forget,  and  not  because  he  had  any  reason  to  sus- 
pect the  double  dealing  of  which  he  had  been  guilty. 
So  h«  received  hint  with  a  show  of  civility  and 
waited  to  l«arn  his  errand. 


"IT  tt  TOO  LATE,   EDMUND. ft  305 

**  I  know  you  do  not  like  me,  Mr.  Darrell,"  was 
the  way  the  visitor  began,  "and  I  will  make  r..\ 
stay  as  short  as  possible.  I  came  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion which  might  seem  impertinent  if  I  did  not 
intend  to  explain  it  in  advance.  You  are  too  honor- 
able a  man  to  misconstrue  my  motive.  As  you  and 
everybody  else  can  see,  I  am  on  the  down-hill  road, 
travelling  at  break-neck  speed.  If  I  could  ever  have 
been  your  rival — which  I  am  far  from  believing — 
that  time  is  passed.  I  only  came  here  to  ask  how 
soon  you  are  to  be — to  be  married.** 

Darrell  stared  at  him  with  a  newly  awakened  pity. 
He  thought  the  brain  had  failed  even  before  th« 
body  succumbed. 

"  If  you  will  think  a  moment,"  he  responded, 
"  you  will  recollect  that  I  have  been  married  a  long 
time.  Do  you  not  remembtr  the  incident  at 
Auburn  ?" 

Clarkson  took  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket  which 
he  slowly  unfolded. 

"  My  mind  is  quite  clear,"  he  said.  "  I  know  what 
I  am  saying.  Read  this  paragraph,  and  you  will  sec 
that  you  are  married  no  longer." 

Darrell  read  the  paragraph  blankly.  Clarkson 
had  received  the  news  before  him.  A  divorce  had 
been  granted  to  Anna  Burton  Darrell  against  her 
husband  Edmund  for  desertion. 

"  You  see,"  spoke  up  Clarkson's  thin  voice,  "  that 
you  are  free.  You  can  marry  as  soon  as  you  like. 
All  I  want  to  know  is,  when  it  will  take  place.  I  do 
not  think  you  will  refuse  to  tell  me/' 

"  I  cannot  understand  what  you  mean,"  replied 
Darrell,  feeing  his  former  suspicion  re-asserting 
itself.  "It  appears  that  my  wife  kas  secured  * 


806  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIEKD. 

divorce,  as  you  say.  Beyond  that  I  do  not  know 
what  you  are  talking  about." 

Clarkson's  pale  face  grew  a  shade  sadder  at  this 
announcement. 

"It  can  do  you  no  harm  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  wist- 
fully. "  It  is  true  that  I  love  her,  and  shall  carry 
that  love  to  my  grave.  But  it  is  also  true  that  she 
loves  you  ;  that  there  neither  is  nor  ever  was  the  least 
hope  for  me.  I  gave  up  every  thought  of  it  when 
I  crossed  the  sea.  I  expected  to  die  without  another 
glimpse  of  her.  But  last  night  I  heard  you  say  you 
did  not  intend  to  leave  France  this  year,  and  I  knew 
that  meant  she  would  come  here  for  the  wedding. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  would  consent  that  I  should 
be  present,  for  I  am  quite  reconciled.  She  has  been 
unhappy  for  such  a  long  time.  Nothing  else  in  the 
world  will  bring  back  the  brightness  in  her  eyes, 
and  I  have  done  with  selfishness.  Think  of  it  again. 
When  you  consider  everything,  you  will  tell  me,  I 
am  sure." 

As  he  went  on  speaking,  the  error  under  which  he 
labored  dawned  gradually  upon  Darrell. 

"  Are  you  speaking  of  Miss  Casson  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Clarkson,  eagerly.  "  Of  whom 
else  could  I  speak  in  that  way  ?" 

"  Then  you  are  making  a  mistake,"  was  the  reply. 
**  I  assure  you  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of 
another  marriage.  As  for  Miss  Casson,  I  have  not 
even  written  her  since  I  came  to  Europe  last 
autumn.  Our  business  partnership  has  been  dis- 
•olved." 

The  eyes  of  the  consumptive  opened  wider  than 
tver. 

"  Is  that  possible  !"  he  ejaculated.  "  Why,  she 
loves  you  with  all  the  devotion  that  such  a  woman 


*1T  If  TOO  LATB,  BMCUm*  Wt 

*:an  feel  for  the  man  of  her  choice.  For  years  you 
were  attached  to  her.  What  could  have  come 
between  you  ?"  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
added  suddenly,  "  It  was  not  the  silly  letter  that  I 
wrote  when  my  mind  was  wandering  ?  I  sent  you  a 
note  explaining  that.  Nor  could  it  have  been  jeal- 
ousy of  me.  When  I  searched  for  her  heart  I  found 
where  it  had  gone.  She  frankly  told  me  that  I  had 
no  chance  whatever.  It  cannot  be  that  anything  has 
estranged  you.  You  were  made  for  each  other. 
Something  must  be  done.  If  there  is  a  misunder* 
standing  it  ought  to  be  set  right." 

The  strangeness  of  the  situation  presented  itself 
to  Darrell's  mind,  in  spite  of  the  pathos  of  this 
appeal.  But  he  knew  no  way  except  the  straight- 
forward one  of  truth. 

"  Nothing  can  make  possible  a  marriage  between 
Miss  Casson  and  myself,"  he  said.  "  It  is  true  that 
we  were  deeply  attached  friends.  Before  I  entered 
upon  my  own  unfortunate  union,  I  liked,  perhaps 
even  loved  her.  At  that  time  she  was  engaged  to 
Professor  Marlin,  and  I  supposed  she  would  soon  be 
his  wife.  After  his  death  our  mutual  liking  kept  us 
much  together.  I  neglected  my  own  family  in  a 
way  which  I  cannot  defend,  and  yet  which  I  could 
not  have  helped  without  violating  every  feeling  in 
my  heart.  The  affair  of  last  summer  has  wrought  a 
great  change  in  me,  which  subsequent  events  have 
intensified.  My  marital  experience  was  not  of  a 
kind  to  induce  me  to  attempt  a  second  one.  Besides 
this,  I  have  met  with  pecuniary  reverses.  I  have 
lost  not  only  the  fortune  I  considered  certain,  but 
most  of  what  I  had  saved  before  I  patented  my 
invention  I  should  have  nothing  to  offer  a  wife. 


808  CBS  HUSBANDS  F&LhUttk 

I   am   a    discouraged,  broken-down    man,  whose 
ambitions  have  left  him." 

Clarkson  heard  him  with  surprise,  but  at  the  last 
sentence  he  seemed  filled  with  a  new  animation. 

•  I  have  some  money,"  he  said.    « It  is  yours  if — ** 

Darrell  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  The  fight  has  gone  out  of  me.  I  found 
that  a  firm  of  Swedes  in  Stockholm  discovered  my 
process  before  I  did.  Six  months  ago,  if  I  had  had 
money  enough,  I  could  have  done  something.  It  is 
too  late  now,  and  I  do  not  feel  any  regrets.  After 
a  while  I  shall  return  to  the  United  States  and  begin 
life  over  again." 

The  more  Clarkson  thought  about  it  the  surer  he 
became  that  nothing  would  move  this  man  to  accept 
his  offer. 

"  You  are  not  sorry  about  the  divorce  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No.  I  had  time  to  prevent  it  had  I  chosen  to 
do  so.  Your  revelations  made  it  impossible  for  my 
wife  and  I  ever  to  live  together  again.  But  they 
did  much  more.  They  undermined  my  faith  in  all 
women.  How  could  I  marry  again  when  such  a 
wife  as  mine  could  prove  untrue  ?" 

The  pale  face  grew  paler  yet.  Its  owner  was 
ready  to  sacrifice  everything,  even  his  reputation  for 
truth,  in  the  interest  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

*'  There  is  something  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice.  •  I  have  written  it  out  and  left  it  to 
be  sent  to  you  after  my — my  death.  But  what  you 
say  makes  me  feel  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  wow.  It 
is  a — a  confession." 

Darrell  was  suddenly  interested,  but  he  did  not 
Make  any  verbal  reply.  He  only  listened  intently 

14 1  cannot  live  long*1  pursued  Clarkson,  "and  if 


"IT  It  TOO    LATE,   BDMUS1X*  306 

TOU  choose  to  hasten  my  end  it  will  matter  little. 
But  I  want  to  tell  you  the  truth  about  your  wife — " 

Entirely  forgetting  the  man's  helplessness,  Darrell 
caught  him  roughly  by  the  throat,  and  seemed  about 
to  strangle  him  then  and  there. 

"  You  villain  !"   he  cried.     **  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  making  it 
impossible  for  Clarkson  to  answer,  and  he  released 
his  hold,  still,  however,  maintaining  his  attitude  of 
hostility.  The  consumptive  was  too  much  overcome 
to  speak  for  a  few  moments,  and  Darrell,  recovering 
his  senses,  brought  him  a  glass  of  water,  which  he 
drank  feverishly. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  was  guiltless  ?"  demanded 
Darrell,  when  the  other  gave  signs  of  being  able  to 
•peak. 

Clarkson  bowed. 

"And  there  was  AO  truth  in  th*  report  you 
made  ?" 

14  None,"  was  the  faiat  reply. 

"  But,"  continued  Darreii,  still  half  incredulous, 
*  why  did  you  invent  the  itories  ?  What  could  hav* 
been  your  object  P* 

"  I  hated  Mm." 

"Mordauntr 

"Yes." 

The  two  man  sat  looking  at  each  otnsr  for  soms 
minutes, 

"  If  you  believed  in  anything,  I  would  make  you 
swear  to  this,"  Darrell  said,  at  last. 

"It  is  true,"  replied  the  other,  "true  as  that  I 
hope  for  a  democracy  in  France.  I  have  no  reason 
for  lying  to  you  now." 

Darrell  was  convinced,  but  he  felt  no  lessening  of 
resentment  for  the  bearer  of  the  tidings. 


310  KfiB  HUSBAND'S    FRIEND. 

"If  you  are  indeed  speaking  the  truth  to-day," 
said  he,  "  you  are  self-accused  of  a  most  cruel  act. 
You  have  calumniated  my  wife,  the  mother  of  my 
Children.  You  have  taken  away  the  reputation  of 
en  innocent  woman,  and  for  what  ?  To  gratify  a 
fiendish  animosity  toward  another  person.  From 
this  hour  forth  I  shall  refuse  to  speak  to  you  under 
whatever  circumstances  we  may  meet.  Nothing  but 
the  knowledge  that  death  is  already  close  upon  your 
track  prevents  my  wreaking  the  summary  vengeance 
that  you  deserve !" 

He  opened  wide  the  door  of  the  room  as  he  spoke, 
and  added,  laconically,  "  Go  T 

"  One  word — just  one  !"  gasped  Clarkson.  "  You 
will  do  justice  to  Miss  Casson  ?" 

44  Go!" 

"She  is  in  no  way  to  blame  for  my  folly.  She 
loves  you  deeply.  She — " 

"  Go>  or  I  shall  forget  your  weakness  and  lay  my 
hand  on  you  !"  was  the  fierce  reply.  "  G0,  and 
never  attempt  to  speak  to  me  again  as  long  as  you 
live  !" 

The  frail  man  lingered  no  longer.  That  night 
DarreH's  landlord  received  notice  that  he  should  be 
away  for  several  weeks. 

The  next  day  he  was  on  the  ocean,  bound  for  New 
York.  Pacing  the  deck  of  the  steamer  alone,  day 
and  evening,  he  seldom  spoke  to  any  other  passenger. 
Rapidly  as  the  boat  sped  on  her  way,  the  voyage 
seemed  endlessly  long  to  him. 

When  he  reached  Boston  he  called  upon  his 
attorney  and  learned  that  the  divorce,  being  nisi. 
was  still  open  for  a  contest  He  directed  Mr. 
Arnold  to  prepare  at  once  the  proper  papers  denying 
the  allegation  of  desertion  and  setting  forth  the  fact 


**tf  li   TOO  LATE,  BDMUm*  311 

that  h«  had  been  travelling  in  foreign  lands  on  busi- 
ness while  the  suit  was  in  progress.  Then  he  went 
to  Auburn,  where  he  found  a  deserted  house,  in  the 
yard  of  which  the  early  summer  weeds  and  grass 
were  rank. 

There  are  few  things  more  dispiriting  than  revisit- 
ing one's  old  home  and  finding  it  in  this  condition, 
It  seemed  to  him  as  if  all  his  family  had  died.  He 
hesitated  about  inquiring  of  any  of  the  neighbor* 
and  was  deliberating  what  to  do  when  Landlord 
Upham  of  the  Auburn  House  drove  by  and  espied 
him. 

"  My  family  have  gone  away,  it  appears,"  he  said, 
as  the  landlord  reined  in  his  horses. 

"  More'n  six  months  ago,"  was  the  reply  "  I  guess 
they  didn't  look  to  see  you  'round  these  parts  ag'in," 
he  added,  sarcastically. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  they  have  gone  *':  asked 
Darrell,  not  thinking  it  worth  while  to  notice  the 
satirical  quality  of  the  answer. 

"Wall,  it's  out  of  Auburn,  sure,"  said  Mr.  Upham 
"An*  out  of  the  State,  if  I'm  any  guesser.  Nobody 
knows,  'cept  Miss  Burton.  She  could  tell  you  ;  but 
that  ain't  sayin'  that  I  think  she  would." 

There  was  no  friendliness  in  the  landlord's  man- 
ner, and  Darrell  moved  silently  up  the  street.  Gall- 
ing as  it  was,  he  felt  that  he  had  no  recourse  except 
to  call  upon  Aunt  Mehitable. 

Miss  Burton  and  her  brother  Ephraim  were  stand- 
ing in  the  yard  of  their  house  when  he  arrived  at  the 
gate,  and  both  of  them  showed  great  surprise  at  see- 
ing him  Ephraim  bowed  with  that  entire  absence 
of  either  love  or  hate  in  his  manner  for  which  he  waa 
famous.  Miss  Burton  straightened  her  thin  neck 


SIS  not  HUSBAND'S 

and  stood  Hk«  a  goldisr  whose  gun  It  in  a  position  U 
repel  cavalry. 

"  I  have  come  to  see  my  wife,  Miss  Burton/  said 
Darrell.  "  I  find  the  house  empty,  and  am  told  that 
you  can  give  me  her  new  address." 

Not  for  another  year  of  life  would  the  spinster 
have  relinquished  the  exquisite  pleasure  which  she 
felt  in  the  reply  she  was  able  to  make  : 

**  Your  wife,  Mr.  Darrell  !  Is  it  possible  that  you 
have  married  again  so  soon  ?" 

He  winced  under  the  unexpected  thrust. 

**  You  know  who  I  mean,"  he  answered.  "  During 
my  absence,  I  understand,  certain  proceedings  have 
been  taken,  but  they  are  not  final,  and  I  am  in  a 
position  to  have  them  set  aside.  Your  niece  is  still 
my  wife  and  I  have  strong  reasons  for  desiring  to  see 
her.  Will  you  tell  me  where  she  is  ?' 

Her  face  was  distorted  with  rage  at  his  announce- 
ment. 

"Thank  you,  not"  she  replied,  bitterly.  "The 
unhappy  girl  whose  love  you  abused  for  so  long  is 
out  of  your  clutches  She  has  taken  the  first  step 
to  tree  herself  from  you  It  will  take  only  the  lapse 
of  a  few  months  to  make  her  divorce  absolute.  If 
there  is  one  particle  of  sense  left  in  your  head  you 
will  make  no  attempt  to  annoy  her  further.** 

Ephraim,  who  had  been  eyeing  them  both  with 
the  calm  gaze  of  an  ox,  turned  away  to  drive  some 
hens  out  of  a  fiower-bcd. 

"1  shall  find  her  with  little  trouble,"  Darrell 
answered  Miss  Burton.  "  When  I  do,  I  shall  have 
something  of  importance  to  tell  her.  After  she  has 
heard  it  she  shall  decide  whether  she  still  wishes  a 
separation  from  me.  You  have  always  hated  me, 
and  I  am  not  surprised  at  your  attitude.  But  my 


"IT  is  TOO  LATE,  EDinnnx*  J1S 

wife — my  wife,  understand — shall  decide  entirely 
for  herself." 

He  strode  away  without  waiting  for  the  reply 
which  in  her  wrath  she  would  have  thrown  at  him. 
Engaging  a  carriage  at  the  livery  stable  he  drove  to 
the  country  seat,  where  he  asked  to  look  at  the 
papers  in  the  case  of  "  Darrell  vs.  Darrell."  As  he 
anticipated,  the  address  he  desired  was  there. 
"  Anna  Burton  Darrell,  now  of  Stillwell,  Me." 

The  next  day  he  was  at  Stillwell,  and  when  his 
wife  opened  the  door  she  stared  at  him  with  a 
vague  alarm. 

"  Don't  let  me  frighten  you,  Anna,"  he  said.  **  I 
have  something  to  say  which  I  could  not  very  well 
write,  and  so  I  came  in  person.  I  shall  only  stay  a 
few  minutes.  May  I  take  a  chair  ?" 

The  children  were  playing  in  the  rear  of  the 
house,  and  the  maid  was  engaged  in  the  kitchen. 
There  was  no  one  to  overhear  what  they  said. 

"I  have  not  come  to  justify  myself,  Anna,** 
pursued  the  man,  hurriedly.  "  I  know  I  have  never 
used  you  right.  In  one  sense  I  have  always  been 
true  to  you — yes,  I  swear  it,  before  God — but  in 
another  I  have  violated  all  the  sacred  promises  I 
made  when  we  were  wedded.  I  realize  as  I  never 
did  before  the  enormity  of  my  offences.  But  that  if 
not  what  I  came  so  far  to  say,  for  two  weeks  ago  I 
was  in  Paris,  and  I  took  the  long  journey  entirely 
for  the  sake  of  this  brief  conversation.  In  the  first 
place  I  want  to  beg  your  pardon  for  the  suspicions 
that  I  entertained  against  you,  and  to  say  that  the 
person  who  made  the  charges  that  I  then  believed, 
has  confessed  that  they  are  entirely  without  founda- 
tion. You  have  entered  a  suit  against  me  for 
Wheo  I  thought  that  you  had  violate* 


814  MB   HETSBJLND'S   FBIBVBk 

your  vow«,  I  was  willing  that  you  should  hav«  at 
unconditional  separation.  Now  that  I  am  convinced 
of  your  truth,  I  want  to  offer  you  again  my  love  and 
support, — not  the  kind  of  love  you  had  before,  but 
the  love  you  should  have  had  and  the  life  by  my 
tide  that  you  ought  to  have  led.  First,  tell  me  that 
I  am  forgiven.  I  was  deceived.  Say  that  you 
pardon  me." 

Anna  Darrell's  tears  fell  fast. 
"  How  shall  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  if  I  do  not  for- 
give ?"  she  said. 

'  And — can  you — is  there  room  in  your  heart  for 
me?" 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  as  was  her  habit, 
though  her  own  orbs  swam. 

44  It  is  too  late,  Edmund.  The  love  which  I  gave 
you  during  those  long  years  of  neglect  is  dead  I 
harbor  no  resentment.  I  wish  you  every  happiness.. 
But  I  can  never  again  be  your  wife." 

He  had  expected  the  answer;  indeed  he  could 
hardly  conceive  how  it  should  be  otherwise,  but  it 
hurt  him,  nevertheless. 

"I  ought  not  to  be  disappointed,"  he  said,  with  an 
effort.  "  I  make  no  claim  on  what  I  threw  aside 
when  it  was  all  my  own.  But  there  are  the  chil- 
dren Who  will  care  for  them  ?" 

The  mother's  instinct  brought  the  blood  to  her 
cheek 

A  Who  has  cared  for  them  erer  since  they  were 
born?    I  am  no   less  able  now  than  before     The> 
•re  mine  and  mine  they  shall  remain  ' 
The  husband  hesitated  a  minute 
"Will  you  answer  me  a  question  ?"  he  asked 
"  Pet  naps' 
"Do  v*u  love  Ha-ry  Mordaunt >' 


18  TGC    LATTS,   EDMUS.!,  *  $15 


It  might  have  been  the  most  ordinary  question  in 
the  world,  judging  from  the  calm  way  in  which  be 
put  it.  It  might  have  been  the  most  mementous, 
judging  by  the  way  she  received  it. 

"  Have  you  come  all  this  distance  to  insult  me  T' 
she  demanded. 

"  No,  only  to  settle  my  future  course  If  you  art 
to  be  separated  from  me  you  must  rely  upon  some 
one.  If  it  is  to  be  Mordaunt,  say  so  ;  that  is  all  I 
wish  to  know.  I  have  no  animosity  toward  him 
When  you  are  free  from  me  you  will  be  your  own 
mistress.  Tell  me,  Anna,  is  it  to  be  Mordaunt  ?" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  her  silence 
was  a  sufficient  reply  for  him. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  Harry.  You  are  to  have  a 
husband  and  I  am  to  lose  a  wife.  Is  it  not  fair  that 
1  should  have  the  charge  of  one  of  our  children  ?" 

Sh  ,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  towered  above  him  in 
her  excitement. 

"  Which  one  ?'*  she  cried.  "  Which  one  of  them  do 
you  think  you  have  earned  the  right  to  take  from 
me  —  tr  m  me,  who  bore  them,  nursed  them,  taught 
them  t  speak  and  have  never  slept  beyond  the  sound 
of  their  voices  *  Why,  they  are  only  babies  !  You 
have  no  home  to  take  them  to.  Unless  —  unless  "— 
she  paused,  '  you  intend  to  gfve  your  name  to  Laura 
Casson  !'* 

In  spite  of  all  he  managed  to  maintain  the  evenness 
of  his  demeanor. 

The  question  of  my  ever  marrying  any  woman 
buf  you  is  beyond  debate,"  said  he,  "  I  have  neither 
seen  nor  written  to  Miss  Casson  for  eight  months. 
You  can  complete  your  divorce  and  marry  whom 
you  please,  but  one  of  the  children  I  have  a  right  to 
claim,  and  you  ought  to  concede  it  without  contest," 


lit  «nt  HUSBAND'!  ran* 

Sht  wtnt  to  tht  window,  when  iht  could 
both  playing  on  the  lawn. 

"They  would  not  go  with  you.  unless  you  used 
force,"  she  said,  turning  toward  him.  "  Would  you 
tear  them  from  their  mother  against  their  will  ?' 

"  They  are  too  young  to  understand,"  he  replied, 
'  but  I  will  leave  it  to  them  If  you  dare  let  them 
decide,  I  will  abide  by  their  choice." 

Confident  beyond  expression  that  the  test  would 
vanquish  him,  Anna  tapped  upon  the  pane,  and 
m  Honed  to  the  little  ones.  A  minute  later  they 
came  trooping  in,  shouting  in  childish  glee,  each  anx 
ious  to  be  ht-t.  At  the  threshold  there  was  a  sudden 
pause.  Ethel  put  her  tongue  in  her  cheek,  and  crept 
softly  to  her  mother's  side.  Alice  stood  for  one  biief 
moment  like  a  little  statue,  and  then  fiew  into  her 
father's  arms. 

44  Papa  !  papa  I"  she  cried.  "  You  have  come 
home  to  stay  !" 

Where  did  she  get  it — this  never  fading  lovr  for 
the  sire  whom  she  had  not  seen  a  dozen  umes  cinco 
she  was  old  enough  to  remember  him  t 

"No,  little  one,"  said  Darrell,  whose  eyes  had 
•  become  all  at  once  very  moist,  "1  hive  not  come 
home  to  stay.  I  shall  have  to  go  away  again  very 
soon,  and  travel  many  miles  across  the  sea,  and  be 
gone  a  very  long  ttme  Mamma  and  I  were  just 
talking  about  it  as  you  came  in.  I  told  her  I  wished 
I  could  take  one  of  my  children  with  me,  because 
there  are  times  when  I  become  very  lonesome.  She 
thought  you  were  both  too  young  to  leave  her,  but 
she  said  if  either  of  you  wished  to  go  with  me,  she 
would  consent.  So  she  called  you  in,  and  we  are  wait* 
ing  tor  your  answer 


81T 

The  child  looked  grave.  Her  little  face  grew  very 
did  as  she  heard  him. 

"  Are  you  obliged  to  go  ?"  she  asked,  slowly. 

"  Yes,  there  is  no  help  for  it." 

"  Why  can't  you  take  all  of  us  f 

u  It  is  not  possible.  I  cannot  explain  it,"  he  said 
*  I  must  either  go  alone  or  take  you  or  Ethel." 

Ethel  heard  her  name  spoken  and  lifted  her  head 
from  her  mother's  lap. 

*'  I  won't  go  off  with  no  man,"  she  lisped.  **  I  shall 
stay  with  mamma." 

•*  Well,  Alice,  how  is  it  with  you  ¥* 

The  child  looked  from  one  of  her  parents  to  the 
other  and  her  little  bosom  heaved. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "  you  have  had  me  all  my 
life,  and  papa  needs  me.  If  you  are  willing;  I  will  go 
ifith  him." 

Then  she  burst  into  violent  sobbing. 

*  She  has  decided,"  said  the  father,  quietly. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

"MRS.   GRUNDY  IS  VERY  USBVtJL." 

Ann*  had  given  her  word  ;  and  though  she  thought 
tKir  heart  would  break  she  never  dreamed  of  keeping 
Alice  from  her  father  after  she  had  offered  to  go  with 
him. 

It  was  arranged  that  he  should  return  to  Boston, 
and  come  for  the  child  a  week  later.  The  sad  task  of 
preparing  the  little  wardrobe  was  begun.  It  almost 
»  Hie  mother  «s  c  the  garments  she  vat 


S18  HKB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

preparing  were  grave  clothes.  She  felt  that  Alice 
might  never  return — but  she  had  given  her  promise. 

While  engaged  in  packing  the  things  on  the  last 
day  before  her  husband  was  expected,  Mordaunt 
made  his  appearance.  A  few  words,  broken  by  sobs, 
told  him  the  story. 

"Alice  is  a  very  odd  child,"  was  his  comment. 
"  Of  course,  when  you  accepted  his  proposal,  you  had 
no  idea  that  she  would  be  willing  to  go." 

"  I  should  never  have  imagined  it  possible,"  she 
replied.  "And  yet  ever  since  she  could  speak  she 
has  been  extravagantly  fond  of  him.  She  used  to 
get  worked  into  the  most  frightful  fits  of  temper 
when  Aunt  Burton  spoke  of  him  slightingly.  She 
was  horrified  one  day,  when  he  came  to  see  us,  at 
Ethel's  refusal  to  recognize  him.  Even  the  articles 
that  he  had  touched  seemed  to  become  sacred  to 
her.  Papa's  chair,  papa's  plate,  papa's  napkin  were 
held  by  her  far  above  all  similar  furniture.  When 
you  reflect  how  little  she  has  seen  of  him  it  is  most 
remarkable." 

He  watched  her  silently  for  some  minutes  as  she 
resumed  her  labors. 

**  How  you  must  have  loved  him  in  the  first  months 
of  your  marriage  !"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?" 

"Because  there  is  no  other  way  of  accounting  for 
Alice's  infatuation.  It  was  born  in  her." 

She  bent  her  head  over  the  trunk,  as  the  memory 
of  those  days  came  back  to  her.  Again  she  walked 
with  him  through  the  pine  woods.  Again  she  heard 
his  gentle  voice,  and  felt  his  strong  arm.  Yes,  she 
bad  loved  him,  indeed  ! 

"  I  did  love  him  !"  she  said,  looking  up.  **  I  loved 
IUm  till  that  moment  when  I  heard  him  doubt  m« 


« MBS.  GBUITDT  IS  VERT   TOEFCL."  819 

I  loved  through  all  those  years  of  neglect.  But 
those  words  of  his  killed  my  love  with  one  blow." 

He  leaned  back  in  the  rocker  and  looked  at  her. 

"Are  you  sure — very  sure — that  it  is  all  dead?" 
he  asked.  "  I  sometimes  fear  that  it  may  revive. 
No,  I  ought  not  to  say  I  •  fear '  it.  If  it  would  make 
you  happier,  I  ought  to  rejoice." 

She  arose  and  stood  beside  him. 

"  But  you  would  not  rejoice,  Harry.  You  would 
be  very,  very  sad." 

He  took  the  hand  she  held  out. 

"  I  want  to  do  what  is  right,  at  whatever  cost  to 
myself,"  he  said.  "  And  something  tells  me  that  I 
ought  to  go  away  from  you,  and  stay  until  the  com- 
plexion of  things  is  altered." 

"Go  away!"  she  exclaimed.  **  Is  he  to  take 
Alice,  and  am  I  to  lose  you,  too  ?" 

It  pleased  him  to  hear  her  say  this,  but  he  per- 
sisted. 

*  We  are  both  of  us  a  little  touched  by  insanity," 
said  he.     "  You  are  still  a  wife,  and  will  be  until  the 
six  months  expire,  when  your  divorce  is  to  be  made 
absolute.     Think  back  one  year,  and  imagine  your- 
self listening  to  words  of  love  under  circumstances 
like  these." 

Her  eyes  dilated. 

"  Do  you  feel  guilty  r"  ske  asked,  nervously. 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  this  way — that  I  am  degrading 
you.  I  feel  that  we  are  acting  too  precipitously. 
The  least  thing  that  I  ought  to  do  is  to  go  away, 
and  stay  till  you  are  free." 

She  beat  the  carpet  with  her  foot. 

*'  And  why  do  you  not  do  it  r" 

*  It  is  so  difficult" 

She  took  a  chair,  more  to  vary  her  posture  than 


380  m«R  HUSBAND'S  FBIEND. 

anything  else,  and  clasped  her  hands  orer  her 
knees. 

"  But  it  must  be  done,"  she  said.  "  Yes,  I  see  it 
clearly  now.  It  must  be  done." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  leave  this  humdrum  village," 
said  Mordaunt.  "You  ought  to  go  somewhere 
where  there  is  movement,  in  order  to  divert  your 
mind.  Not  to  New  York — I  shall  be  there  a  good 
deal — but  to  some  other  of  the  large  cities,  say  to 
Philadelphia.  If  you  needed  me,  it  would  be  easy 
to  send  word." 

After  a  little  further  talk,  this  course  was  decided 
en.  And,  though  it  gave  a  pang  to  them  both,  they 
parted  with  only  a  verbal  good-by,  fearing  to  trust 
themselves  with  even  a  clasp  of  the  hands. 

Darrell  came  for  his  daughter  at  the  time  agreed 
upon.  He  had  written  to  Anna,  begging  her  to 
make  the  parting  as  simple  as  possible,  and  the 
mother  gave  up  her  child  with  dry  eyes,  and  a 
forced  appearance  of  contentment.  Alice  herself 
wept  vehemently,  but  still  persevered  in  her  deter- 
mination to  go.  When  the  carriage  had  gone,  Anna 
felt  as  if  she  had  only  one  living  child  left ;  and 
with  no  one  to  help  her,  she  took  up  the  burden  of 
existence  again  with  a  heavy  heart. 

But  there  was  one  thing  she  had  neglected  to 
provide  against.  Miss  Burton  had  not  been  con- 
sulted in  the  disposition  of  the  child,  and  when  she 
iearned  what  had  been  done — after  it  was  a  fait 
tf^w*///— she  fairly  boiled  over  with  rage.  She 
wrote  her  niece  a  letter,  declaring  that  by  this  action 
she  had  forfeited  all  claim  to  her  further  good-wfl, 
and  that  she  need  expect  nothing  whatever  from 
her  from  that  time  forth. 

*  As  you  have  preferred  to  listen  to  the  man  who 


"MBS.    GBUWDT    IB    TEST   USKFUL."  321 

..as  so  disgraced  you,  rather  than  to  me,  your  choice 
is  your  own,"  said  the  letter.  "  Never  again  will  I 
give  a  thought  to  you,  never  shall  a  penny  of  mine 
find  its  way  to  your  pocket.  I  di&own  you  com- 
pletely. Go  where  you  please,  do  what  you  like, 
but  never  let  me  see  or  hear  from  you." 

Anna's  cheek  burned  with  indignation  as  she  read. 
Her  only  design  in  consulting  with  her  aunt  had 
been  to  gain  moral  support,  not  pecuniary  aid.  She 
had  accepted  the  small  sums  sent  her,  with  some 
doubts  of  the  propriety  of  doing  so.  To  have  it 
thrust  in  her  face,  as  if  she  were  a  beggar,  was  too 
humiliating.  She  had  declined  Edmund's  proposal 
to  divide  with  her  what  he  had  left,  and  now  he  was 
on  the  sea,  and  could  not  be  reached,  even  were  she 
disposed  to  write  to  him.  The  sum  that  she  had  on 
hand  was  very  small.  It  would  take  her  to  Phila- 
delphia, but  would  not  provide  for  her  and  Ethel 
very  long  after  she  got  there.  It  was  evident  that 
she  must  seek  paid  employment. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  City  of  Brotherly  Love  she 
consulted  the  newspapers.  Inexperienced  as  a 
child,  she  set  out  to  answer  some  of  the  advertise- 
ments which  seemed  to  offer  engagements  suitable  to 
her  capacity.  She  was  surprised  and  disappointed 
at  the  small  compensation  offered,  hardly  more  tnaa 
she  had  paid  her  cook  at  Auburn.  There  was  one 
exception — an  old  gentlemen  who  wanted  a  house- 
keeper, and  who  said  that  Ethel  would  be  no  objec- 
tion whatever.  He  told  her  to  fix  her  own  salary  ; 
but  there  was  something  in  his  manner — she  did  not 
know  what — that  alarmed  her,  and  she  told  him  that 
she  would  have  to  think  about  it.  When  she 
reached  her  room  she  was  glad  to  remember  that 
she  had  not  given  him  her  address. 


3»2  HER   HUSBANDS    FEIEND. 

Mordaunt  wrote  to  her,  but  she  thought  it  best 
not  to  answer  him  just  at  present.  Through  the 
kind  offices  of  her  landlady,  she  got  half-a-dozen 
children  to  teach  the  rudiments  of  English,  but  the 
sum  received  did  not  quite  suffice  to  pay  her  rent 
and  the  cost  of  the  meals  which  she  cooked  herself 
over  her  little  stove.  She  began  to  grow  rebellious. 
One  evening  she  pawned  her  watch  for  twenty-five 
dollars — it  had  cost  one  hundred — and  was  coming 
home,  when  she  encountered  Harold  Mordaunt  on 
the  sidewalk. 

He  knew  the  moment  he  saw  her  that  she  was 
in  some  new  trouble,  and  though  she  resolved  not 
to  confide  it  to  him,  she  had  told  him  all  about  it 
before  they  had  walked  four  blocks  together. 

a  The  old  harridan  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  allusion  to 
Miss  Burton.  "And  how  long  would  you  have 
fought  it  out  like  this  without  letting  me  know  ?" 

"I  hated  to  write  of  it  to  you,"  she  answered, 
clinging  to  his  arm.  "  I  could  not  accept  favors, 
when  there  is  no  way  in  which  I  can  repay  them." 

"  No  way  !"  He  uttered  the  words  like  a  cry. 
"No  way,  Anna  !  In  September — just  as  soon  as 
the  law  will  permit — I  want  you  to  take  my  name. 
Don't  oppose  me  any  more.  You  must  have  a  pro- 
tector. It  is  outrageous  for  you  to  go  on  as  you 
have  been  doing.  And  darling  little  Ethel,  too  ! 
It  will  break  you  down.  You  are  not  used  to  it." 

How  dearly  she  washed  she  could  agree  with  him  ; 
but  she  could  not. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  saying  such  things  to  me," 
she  said.  "  I  cannot  marry  you.  And  that  being 
the  case,  I  cannot  honorably  accept  your  assis- 
tance." 

u  What    wiG   you    do,   then  ?"     he    blurted   out 


MMBO.    GltUNDY    IS    VERT    FSEFUL."  228 

**  Starve  ?  Haven't  you  had  enough  of  this  ?  But» 
if  I  cannot  lend  money  to  you,  I  can  to  Ethel.  Shi 
won't  refuse  it,  from  her  best  uncle.  Take  me  to 
your  house,  and  let  me  talk  it  over  with  her." 

At  first  Anna  positively  refused  to  show  him 
where  she  lived,  but  he  plead  so  hard  to  b* 
allowed  one  look  at  his  little  "  niece,"  that  sha 
relented.  With  heightened  color  she  led  him  into 
the  barely  furnished  chamber  that  was  parlor, 
kitchen,  bed-room,  everything  to  her  and  her  child. 
Ethel's  delight  at  seeing  him  was  boundless.  He 
made  her  say  a  hundred  cunning  things,  to  which  he 
called  her  mother's  attention,  as  tending  to  prove 
his  side  of  the  case  ;  and  when  she  grew  tired  he 
assisted  in  undressing  her,  and  held  her  in  his  arms 
until  she  was  asleep. 

"  Before  I  go,"  he  said,  as  he  laid  the  child  on  tha 
pillow,  and  stood  waiting,  with  an  instinctive  knowl- 
edge that  he  ought  not  to  remain  -much  later,  "I 
want  you  to  promise  that  you  will  accept  the  money 
I  am  going  to  send  you  to-morrow.  You  can  call  it 
a  present,  a  loan,  or  what  you  please,  but  you  must 
take  it  without  a  word." 

Her  voice  trembled  much  as  she  tried  to  answer 
him. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  since  I  met  you 
to-night,  and  I  have  tried  to  reach  a  right  conclu- 
sion. If  I  were  entirely  alone  in  the  world,  I  could 
earn  my  own  bread.  It  is  because  of  Ethel  that  I 
have  had  to  refuse  situations  offered  me.  I  appreci- 
ate all  you  say,  and  I  have  implicit  faith  in  your 
goodness.  If  you  will  take  my — my  baby — you  may 
have  her." 

The  suggestion  staggered  him. 


8tt  BBS  HUSBAVDfc  FRIBNIX 

"Take  Ethel!"  he  exclaimed.  "Take  the  Ja* 
child  from  you  !  Anna,  you  cannot  mean  it !" 

**I— I  know,"  she  stammered,  "that  it  will  be 
hard.  I  have  missed  Alice  so  much,  and  Ethel  is 
like  half  of  my  heart.  But — I  cannot  take  your 
money.  I  can  let  you  spend  it  for  her,  without  feeling 
the  sense  of  shame  that  would  come  if  it  were  for 
myself.  You  can  place  her  with  some  kind  lady  who 
will  be  a  mother  to  her,  and  I — I  shall  get  along  very 
well,  I  have  no  doubt.** 

A  bright  idea  flashed  into  his  mind. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  select  the  lady  who  is  to  care 
for  her — " 

"  With  pleasure,"  she  responded,  u  for  I  should 
have  perfect  confidence  in  your  choice." 

"  And  you  seek  a  situation  ?"  he  added,  with  a 
smile. 

"Yes." 

"  Consider  yourself  engaged.*5 

She  was  not  to  be  caught  at  once  with  this  lure, 
attractive  though  it  was,  and  she  protested  that  he 
ought  to  take  her  proposition  more  seriously. 

"You  cannot  understand,"  said  she,  "how 
degraded  I  should  feel  to  accept  your  bounty  after 
the  talk  of  love  that  has  passed  between  us.  It  will 
be  hard  for  me  to  earn  my  living — I  never  dreamed 
how  hard  until  I  tried  it — but  it  can  be  done.  Mr. 
Darrell  has  Alice  and  he  will  not  let  her  suffer.  You 
may  take  Ethel,  if  you  will  be  so  kind,  and  when 
both  hands  are  free  I  can  battle  with  my  fate  alone." 

Again  there  swept  over  him  a  wave  of  passionate 
longing.  Whether  she  were  another  man's  wife, 
whether  she  were  ever  to  be  his,  what  mattered  it  ? 
He  loved  her  !  And,  as  before,  at  her  cottage  at 
Still  well,  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 


"MBS.   GBU2TDY  18  VEBT   USEFUL."  826 

"  You  talk  of  hiding  away  from  me — -youf*  he 
cried,  his  voice  shaking.  "  Who  is  being  punished 
the  most  ?  /'  Life  to  me  without  you  is  colorless. 
I  want  you,  Anna.  I  want  you  to  hold  next  to  my 
heart  while  existence  remains  to  me.  We  shall  both 
have  to  overcome  the  foolish  notions  due  to  educa- 
tion. You  gave  a  soul  all  goodness  and  purity  to 
a  man  who  has  trodden  upon  it  like  the  proverbial 
swine  upon  the  pearls.  He  has  forfeited  every  right 
to  you.  Even  the  law  has  stepped  in  and  barred 
him  out.  You  are  mine  now,  and  I  shall  never 
resign  you — never,  never  !" 

He  had  one  arm  around  her  shoulders,  and  held 
her  head  back  so  that  he  could  look  Into  her 
eyes.  All  the  woman  that  was  in  her  pleaded  for 
him. 

"  You  are  too  generous,"  she  began.  **  I  ought 
not  to  allow  you  to  say  these  things." 

His  lips  touched  hers.  It  was  a  caress  as  gentle 
as  that  which  a  mother  gives  to  her  sleeping  babe. 

"  I  have  done  with  listening  to  you,"  he  said, 
gravely.  "  You  are  not  a  fit  person  to  entrust  with 
important  decisions.  To-morrow  I  shall  engage  a 
house  for  you  and  Ethel,  and  you  must  go  there." 

A  blush  suffused  her  features. 

"  Careless  one,"  she  replied,  "  have  you  no  thought 
of  appearances  ?  I  could  no  more  go  to  a  house 
that  you  had  hired,  than — "  She  paused  for  a  suf- 
ficiently strong  simile.  "  Why,  what  would  it  indi- 
cate in  the  eyes  of  the  world  !" 

He  saw  it  as  she  did,  now  that  the  matter  was 
presented  to  him. 

*'  I  am  afraid  common  sense  is  deserting  both  of 
ms,"  he  admitted.  "  You  are  right,  of  course. 
Although  I  should  not  come  there,  my  paying  the 


326  HER   HUSBAND'S    FEIEND. 

rent  might  make  talk.  I  will  therefore  send  a  pack- 
age of  money — not  to  you,  don't  flatter  yourself — 
but  to  Ethel.  You  can  use  it  as  you  please,  in 
her  interest.  I  will  keep  away — if  I  can — until 
September.  Confound  Mrs.  Grundy,  what  an  idiot 
she  is  !" 

Anna  disengaged  herself  gently  from  his  clasp, 
and  stood  gazing  at  him  with  eyes  of  affection. 

"  No,  Harry,  Mrs.  Grundy  is  a  very  useful  per- 
sonage. She  has  a  mission  to  fulfill.  You  have 
over-persuaded  me,  and  I  will  accept  your  last  offer, 
for  Ethel's  sake.  But,"  she  paused,  and  her  voice 
grew  husky,  "  I  can  promise  nothing  more.  Some- 
times it  seems  as  if  I  could  not  live  without  you  ; 
and  again,  the  frightful  thought  of  two  living  hus- 
bands paralyzes  me.  You  are  too  noble  and  gener- 
ous to  make  this  money  the  basis  of  any  claim.  I 
am  sure  of  that,  or  I  would  not  touch  it  And  now, 
we  must  say  good-night." 

Jf  there  are,  as  we  are  taught  in  infancy,  angels 
whose  mission  it  is  to  record  the  struggles  of  men 
toward  what  is  highest  in  their  natures,  they  must 
have  filled  a  page  for  Harold  Mordaunt,  as  he 
pressed  the  hand  of  Anna  Darrell  and  went  his  way. 

The  next  day  Anna  decided  that  it  would  be  best 
to  engage  a  small  suite  of  furnished  apartments  for 
herself  and  Ethel,  rather  than  either  a  whole  house 
•r  a  boarding-place.  The  sum  which  came  directed 
to  "  Miss  Ethel  Darrell  "  was  sufficient  for  their 
necessities  for  months  in  advance.  Time  passed  by. 
She  heard  often  from  Mordaunt,  but  never  saw  him. 
She  had  become  quite  reconciled  to  her  lot,  when 
one  day,  to  her  infinite  astonishment,  her  Aunt 
Mehitable  presented  herself  at  her  door. 

Her  first  thought  was   to   refuse  her  admittance 


"MBS.    GKUNDT   IS  VEBY    USEFUL."  387 

but  she  feared  a  scene  in  the  hall-way,  and  she 
silently  escorted  the  grotesque  figure  into  her  sit- 
ting-room. When  the  door  was  closed,  the  two 
women  stood  regarding  each  other  with  anything 
but  friendly  looks. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  to  sit  down,"  said 
Anna,  in  a  voice  whose  firmness  surprised  even  her- 
self. "  If  you  have  any  business  to  transact  with 
me  you  can  attend  to  it  standing." 

Miss  Burton's  sinister  eyes  flashed,  as  she  let  her 
gaze  wander  about  the  room. 

"  When  you  were  at  Stillwell,"  she  said,  icily,  "  I 
wrote  you  that  T  should  have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  you.  But  I  cannot  let  my  brother's  daughter 
sink  so  low  as  this  without  an  effort  to  save  her.  I 
came  to  ask  you  to  return  to  Massachusetts  ;  not  to 
Auburn,  for  there  you  would  cause  talk  that  would 
be  unpleasant  to  both  of  us  ;  but  to  some  quiet  town 
:n  the  vicinity,  where  I  can  supply  your  needs,  and 
prevent  further  disgrace  to  your  blood." 

Anna  felt  all  the  infamy  that  was  meant  by  these 
words,  but  she  made  no  reply.  She  was  like  one 
petrified. 

"  Ever  since  you  first  met  the  wretch  whom  you 
afterwards  married,"  continued  her  aunt,  "  I  have 
noticed  a  change  in  you.  All  the  advice  I  have 
given  has  been  wasted.  I  thought  when  I  wrote  that 
letter  to  Stillwell  that  it  would  bring  you  to  your 
senses.  I  imagined  that  you  had  had  enough  of 
stubbornness.  It  seems  that  I  was  mistaken. 
There  were  other  depths  into  which  you  could 
descend,  and  you  a  Burton  !  Goodness,  girl,  are 
you  going  to  stare  at  me  all  day  like  that !  Have 
you  no  reply  to  make  ?" 


#558  HEE   HUSBAND'S  FRIENB, 

For  answer,  Anna  stepped  to  the  door  of  th«  room, 
flung  it  open,  and  pointed  to  the  stairway. 

"  Oh,  you  turn  me  out,  do  you  !"  screamed  the 
spinster.  "  But  I  tell  you  I  will  not  endure  it  !  I 
will  inform  the  police  and  have  you  taken  into  court 
You  shall  not  go  on  in  this  way  !  You — " 

The  tension  into  which  the  woman's  nerves  had 
been  wrought  proved  too  much  for  her.  She  stag- 
gered to  a  chair,  where  her  evident  weakness  began 
to  alarm  her  niece. 

"  I  am  growing  old,"  said  Miss  Burton,  querulously^ 
when  she  regained  her  voice.  "  Ephraim  is  growing 
old.  We  have  saved  our  money  all  our  lives  for  you. 
When  you  exhausted  our  patience,  I  had  a  new  will 
made,  giving  the  property  to  missionary  societies. 
It  was  not  what  I  wanted  to  do,  but  your  conduct 
compelled  it.  But,  bad  as  you  are,  you  are  of  our 
family,  and  I  would  rather  you  had  our  money  than 
any  one  else.  Leave  this  place,  Anna.  Come  with 
me  and  I  will  destroy  the  will  that  disinherits  you. 
I  think  I  have  not  long  to  live,  and  I  want  this  mat- 
ter settled  before  I  die." 

Anna  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak.  Her  only 
desire  was  to  bring  the  interview  to  a  close. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?"  repeated  Miss  Burton.  "  Will 
you  not  give  me  an  answer  ?" 

The  extended  arm,  with  the  hand  pointing  to  the 
street  entrance,  was  the  only  reply  she  received. 

*'  Then  God  forgive  you  !"  moaned  the  aunt. 
*  May  He  judge  between  us.  I  am  too  weak  to  walk 
back  to  the  station.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  let 
come  one  call  a  carriage  ?'* 

There  is  something  in  unmerited  insult  that  freezes 
tht  natural  compassion  in  the  veins  of  women. 
Anna's  heart  would  have  melted  with  pity  at  the 


**MES.    GETJNDY   18   VERY  USEFUL."  889 

sight  before  her,  had  its  victim  been  a  total  stranger. 
As  it  was,  she  saw  and  heard  only  the  hard  woman 
who  had  trampled  on  her  tenderest  feelings,  and 
crowned  it  all  by  an  accusation  that  she  could  not 
Overlook. 

Leaving  the  room,  she  rang  for  the  janitor  of  the 
building,  and  sent  him  for  the  carriage  as  requested. 
Luckily,  Ethel  was  out  walking  with  the  maid,  and 
the  aunt  and  rriece  were  the  sole  occupants  of  the 
apartment.  When  the  janitor  returned,  Anna  asked 
him  to  assist  the  lady  in  the  next  room  to  the  street, 
and  herself  remained  out  of  sight  till  she  was  gone. 
She  knew  that  if  she  trusted  herself  to  say  a  word, 
she  should  break  into  reproaches,  and  that  the  safest 
policy  was  silence.  But  when  she  heard  the  carriage 
roll  away,  she  felt  a  little  guilty,  after  all. 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  do  exactly  right,"  she  mur» 
mured  to  herself,  "  but  there  is  a  limit  to  what 
human  nature  can  endure." 

She  heard  from  Edmund  once — a  brief  note  saying 
that  he  had  arrived  safely  at  Paris,  and  that  Alice 
was  well.  He  made  no  allusion  to  the  past,  and 
gave  no  definite  address.  It  was  clear  that  he  had 
burned  the  bridges  behind  him,  and  left  her  to  fol- 
low her  own  course. 

When  September  came — that  September  that  Mor- 
daunt  had  waited  for — the  cable  flashed  the  news 
that  Napoleon  III.  was  a  prisoner  of  the  Germans, 
and  that  his  empire  lay  a  crushed  and  broken  thing 
under  the  feet  of  Bismarck.  The  conquering  army 
was  advancing  upon  the  capital  of  France.  Its 
march  would  alter  the  destiny  of  a  nation,  but  to 


830  HBB  HUSBAND'S  FRIETHX 

the  mother  it  meant  but  one  thing — danger  to  th« 
child  she  had  surrendered. 

Mordaunt  had  spent  the  summer  in  a  ceaseless 
round  of  the  watering-places,  vainly  hoping  to 
hasten  the  dull,  dragging  days.  When  September 
arrived,  he  felt  that  he  must  know  his  fate.  He 
could  wait  no  longer.  He  wrote  to  Anna  that  he 
was  coming  to  visit  her,  and  conjured  her  by  all  that 
she  held  sacred  to  let  no  foolish  considerations 
stand  in  the  way  of  their  speedy  union.  When  they 
met  he  saw  in  her  eyes  nothing  that  encouraged 
him. 

"  You  have  heard  the  news  from  France  ?"  she 
said,  anxiously.  "  I  am  very  uneasy  about  Alice. 
If  the  Germans  surround  Paris  she  will  be  in  great 
danger.  Why  did  I  let  her  go  ?  I  have  regretted  it 
every  moment  since." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  in  especial  peril,"  he  replied, 
soberly.  "  But  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  ascertain, 
if  you  desire.  We  will  go  there — on  our  wedding 
journey." 

She  paled  at  the  suggestion. 

"  It  is  hardly  fair,"  she  said,  "  that  you  should  use 
my  mother-love  to  influence  me.  I  wish  I  knew  she 
was  safe.  I  have  telegraphed  three  times,  and 
received  no  answer.  As  I  did  not  know  Edmund's 
address,  I  have  tried  to  reach  him  through  the 
American  ministry  or  consulate.  It  does  not  seem 
wise  for  me  to  go,  knowing  nothing  of  the  country 
or  the  language,  but  if  I  had  some  one — a — friend, 
who  would — " 

Their  eyes  met. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said  quietly.  '*  It  matters  little  to 
me  where  I  am,  so  long  as  you  will  not  give  me  your 
love,  yeur  heart — " 


"MBS.    OBTJNDT   IS   VERT    USEFUL.*  381 

"Oh,  Harry,"  she  cried,  **  my  love  and  ray  heart 

were  yours  long  ago  !" 

"  If  it  must  be,"  he  continued,  not  noticing  the 
interruption,  "  that  you  will  not  trust  your  life  in 
my  keeping,  one  part  of  the  world  is  the  same  to  me 
as  another.  I  will  go  to  Paris  on  the  next  steamer, 
and  send  you  word  what  I  learn.  But  I  shall  not 
return  to  America.  I  have  borne  as  much  as  I  can, 
and  my  native  land  has  grown  hateful  to  me." 

She  came  close  to  him,  and  placed  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders. 

"  I  do  not  deserve  such  devotion,"  she  whispered. 
"  I  wish — oh,  how  I  wish  ! — that  I  could  requite  it 
better  !" 

He  put  his  arm  about  her,  in  the  old,  familiar 
fashion. 

"I  ought  not  to  complain,"  he  said.  "Withtha 
love  that  you  tell  me  is  mine  I  ought  to  be  supremely 
happy.  Why  am  I  not,  I  wonder  ?  Why  do  I  grow 
sick  and  pine  for  the  substance  as  well  as  the  spirit  ? 
But  if  I  am  to  catch  the  next  steamer  I  must  be  in 
New  York  to-night.  Bring  in  Ethel  for  me  to  kiss, 
and  I  will  go." 

Miss  Ethel  was  not  troubled  with  scruples.  Her 
delight  at  seeing  Mordaunt  was  unrestrained.  She 
sat  on  his  knee  till  the  clock  warned  him  that  he 
must  depart,  and  relinquished  her  place  very 
reluctantly  at  last. 

Mordaunt  stood  for  some  minutes,  with  Anna's 
hand  in  his,  reluctant  to  break  the  hold  that  seemed 
now  so  slight. 

"  The  sea  has  its  dangers,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  will  pray  for  you." 

"If  I  should  perish,  what  should  be  my  last 
thought  ?" 


83$  HER  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

"•That  I  have  done  what  I  believed  right,"  she 
replied,  weeping.  "  That  I  love  you,  and  shall  be 
true  to  that  love  as  long  as  I  have  life." 

He  knew  that  if  he  gave  way  in  the  least  his 
fortitude  would  be  shaken,  and  with  a  gentle  kiss 
upon  her  cheek  he  silently  withdrew. 

Before  he  slept  that  evening  he  read  over  his  will, 
made  the  previous  spring,  devising  the  bulk  of  his 
property  to  Ethel  Darrell  and  her  mother.  Should 
it  ever  be  probated  in  those  terms,  it  might  excite 
comment  from  the  people  who  are  always  ready  to 
think  evil.  On  the  other  hand,  they  were  the  ones 
he  loved  best  on  earth,  and  they  would  need  his 
care  even  after  his  death.  Yes,  the  testament 
should  stand  unaltered. 

There  was  a  bridal  couple  on  board  the  steamer 
—a  happy  pair  who  billed  and  cooed  all  day  long  in 
their  chairs  upon  the  deck.  Mordaunt  heard  ac- 
cidentally that  the  bride  had  recently  been  divorced 
from  an  uncongenial  first  partner,  with  whom  she 
had  led  a  dreary  life. 

**  What  a  difference  there  is  in  women,"  he  muttered 
to  himself. 

But,  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  he  did  npt  like 
Anna  less  for  the  contrast 


SHUT  €F  IK  PABtt.  888 

CHAPTER  XXVIL 

•HUT  UP  IN  PARIS, 

Mordaunt  was  in  time  to  get  into  Pans  before  the 
German  army  invaded  it,  but  he  was  not  in  time  to 
get  out  again  as  soon  as  he  could  have  desired.  He 
found  Darrell  with  little  trouble — not  through  the 
American  officials,  from  whom  the  Communist  pur- 
po??ly  kept  aloof,  but  by  a  quiet  investigation  made 
fr>  a  member  of  the  detective  force,  whom  he  engaged 
for  the  purpose.  Darrell  was  too  much  wrapped  up 
in  the  main  object  of  his  life  to  devote  a  great  deal 
of  attention  to  his  former  friend.  He  received  him 
in  fact  without  exhibiting  either  pleasure  or  regret ; 
but  ia  answer  to  questions  he  stated  that  Alice  was 
quite  well  and  that  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing 
her  to  return  to  her  mother. 

"It  is  only  fair  that  I  should  keep  one,  Harry,"  he 
said,  "  when  you  are  to  have  the  other  two.** 

Mordaunt  bit  his  lips. 

'*  I  am  to  have  neither  of  them,"  he  replied.  "  I 
came  here  at  Mrs,  Darrell's  request,  to  ask  you  to 
let  me  save  Alice  from  the  extreme  dangers  that 
surround  Paris.  That  is  my  only  errand.  If  you 
positively  refuse,  I  have  only  to  telegraph  her  mother 
to  that  effect,  and  pursue  my  journey  toward  the 
east." 

Darren  took  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  up. 

"  Some  kind  friend  has  sent  me  this — th«  an- 
nouncement the  nisi  divorce  has  been  made  absolute. 
I  do  not  see  why  you  aac  Anna  should  postpo»« 


884  HBK  HUSBAND'S  FBDDID. 

your  happiness.     Surely  there   is   nothing  !a  the 
way." 

How  could  he  have  loved  this  man,  almost  like  a 
brother,  for  so  many  years  ! 

"  Mrs.  Darrell  is  perfectly  free,"  he  answered, 
frigidly,  "  and  purposes  remaining  so." 

Darrell  looked  surprised. 

"  I  must  inquire  the  reason,"  he  said.  "  What 
stands  between  you  now  ?" 

"  You  do,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  She  has  an  old- 
fashioned  notion  that  a  woman  should  not  have  two 
living  husbands." 

Darrell  pulled  his  moustache  for  some  moments. 

"  That  is  nonsense,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  if  she  applies 
it  to  this  case.  As  far  as  she  is  concerned,  I  am  as 
if  I  had  never  existed.  The  law  joined  us  and  the 
law  has  dissolved  our  union.  She  is  a  good  girl 
and  I  seriously  hoped  you  were  united  before  this 
time.  I  tried  to  right  myself  last  summer,  but  it 
was  too  late.  She  refused  to  live  with  me  again,  and 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said.  I  took  Alice  and 
came  here,  where  there  is  likely  to  be  enough  soon 
to  absorb  all  my  attention.  I  have  grown  very  fond 
of  the  child,  and  I  could  not  think  of  parting  with 
her.  If  you  can  secure  a  passport  you  had  best  go 
without  delay.  Paris  is  going  to  be  an  uncomfort- 
able place  for  men  with  your  views  before  the  winter 
is  over." 

"With  my  views?"  repeated  Mordaunt.  "Then 
I  should  think  it  a  poor  place  for  any  American.'' 

"If  you  refer  to  me,  I  am  not  an  American,"  was 
the  quick  reply.  "  No,  I  am  a  Frenchman  while  this 
conflict  lasts.  Napoleon  is  dethroned,  as  I  predicted 
to  you  that  he  would  be,  that  day  at  the  Arch  of 
Triumoh  :  but  there  is  still  much  to  be  done.  Our 


SHUT  UP  IN   PABK.  335 

,ievf  rulers  are  almost  as  despotic  as  those  we  have 
overthrown." 

"  I  fear  the  French  have  little  chance  of  defeating 
the  Germans,"  responded  Mordaunt.  "  With  no 
recognized  leader  whom  all  are  bound  to  obey,  they 
•vill  be  at  the  mercy  of  the  invaders  The  Teutons 
will  enter  these  gates  before  Christmas  unless  aid 
comes  from  some  unexpected  source." 

Darrell  smiled. 

"Let  them  enter.  The  Communists  have  no  wish 
to  keep  them  out.  The  French  people  must  be 
humbled  before  it  can  hope  to  arise  triumphant 
Let  the  Germans  batter  in  our  walls  and  spread 
their  armies  over  our  streets.  Eventually  they  will 
have  to  retire,  and  out  of  the  chaos  the  People  will 
come  purified.  To-day,  we  have  only  exchanged  a 
Bonaparte  for  a  Thiers.  I  welcome  the  Prussian  as 
part  of  the  discipline  we  need  ;  but  you,  who  love 
royalty  for  itself  alone,  can  have  no  object  in  re- 
maining. So  I  say  to  you  again,  procure  your  pass- 
port before  it  is  too  late." 

Mordaunt  sent  a  cablegram  to  Anna,  saying  brief- 
ly that  Alice  was  well  and  that  he  could  not  induce 
her  father  to  release  her.  But  when  he  sought  his 
passport,  he  found  that  there  were  innumerable  dif- 
ficulties in  the  way.  After  weeks  of  fruitless  effort«, 
the  shelling  of  the  city  began,  and  he  found  himself 
doomed  to  remain  within  the  walls.  A  document 
with  which  Minister  Washburn  provided  him  made 
his  passage  safe  about  the  city,  but  the  dullness  of 
his  imprisonment  became  almost  insupportable, 

He  varied  the  monotony  of  his  life  by  calling 
frequently  upon  Alice,  to  whom  her  father  gave  him 
free  access  and  who  remembered  him  perfectly.  The 
child  wept  when  he  spoke  of  her  mother  and  sister, 


tfflto  ABB  HUSBAND'S 

whom  she  admitted  she  missed  sadly,  but  she  did 
not  wish  to  leave  her  father. 

The  perfect  devotion  that  she  had  for  him  was 
almost  like  worship.  It  could  not  be  accounted  for 
on  any  ordinary  hypothesis.  To  her  he  represented 
all  that  was  good,  great  and  noble.  The  hour  or  two 
each  day  which  she  passed  with  him  were  her  hap- 
piest  moments.  She  was  nominally  under  the 
charge  of  a  Parisian  governess,  who  assisted  her  in 
her  simple  lessons  in  English,  and  in  acquiring  the 
Gallic  tongue,  which  she  absorbed  with  astonishing 
readiness.  Before  Mordaunt's  arrival  she  understood 
practically  everything  that  was  said  in  her  presence 
by  the  Frenchmen  who  called  upon  her  father,  and 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  making  herself  compre- 
hended. 

She  was  given  a  full  part,  so  far  as  such  a  young 
mind  could  be,  in  the  constant  conspiracy  that  was 
going  on  around  her.  Her  father  desired  that  she 
should  be  present  whenever  he  had  Communistic 
visitors,  for  he  thought  no  age  too  young  to  imbibe 
that  hatred  of  oppression  that  was  his  own  ruling 
passion.  It  delighted  him  to  hear  the  earnestness 
with  which  she  would  utter  such  expressions  as  "A 
bas  les  royalistes  /"  and  "  Vive  la  Commune /"  On  such 
occasions  he  would  pat  heron  the  head  and  respond, 
"  Ma  bonne  filh  /"  She  knew  that  she  had  pleased 
him,  and  for  Alice  there  was  no  higher  standard  than 
this. 

Among  the  people  who  gathered  at  Darrell's  apart- 
ments were  many  women.  Some  of  the  most  pro- 
nounced revolutionists  were  of  the  so-called  gentler 
sex.  Mistaken  they  may  have  been  in  their  over- 
zeal,  but  they  made  as  unselfish  and  as  earnest  a 
band  as  were  *ver  engaged  in  any  cause.  They  easi- 


•wot  UP  us  PARIS.  337 

ly  distanced  their  masculine  coadjutors  in  fearless- 
ness, disdain  for  personal  consequences  and  faith  in 
the  success  of  their  principles.  One  evening  Darrell 
was  surprised  by  an  unexpected  addition  to  their  ranks. 
A  Mile.  Thierry  brought  with  her  an  American  lady, 
for  whom  she  gave  her  fullest  voucher.  It  was  Laura 
Casson. 

Darrell  knew  it  was  Laura  Casson,  but  he  had  to 
admit  that  she  was  greatly  changed.  She  had  now 
abundant  threads  of  white  in  her  hair  and  many  of 
those  lines  that  tell  of  suffering  about  her  mouth 
and  eyes.  He  was  not  willing  to  follow  the  hint 
that  her  quick  glance  gave  him  and  pretend  that  he 
did  not  know  her.  He  preferred  to  say,  coldly,  "  I 
think  I  have  met  Miss  Casson  in  America,"  and  then 
he  went  on  with  the  business  of  the  evening  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 

. "  The  republican  government  is  not  likely  to  make 
additional  trouble  for  itself  by  molesting  any  of  us 
at  present,"  he  said.  "  It  has  quite  enough  to  do  to 
resist  the  siege.  If,  however,  we  should  be  placed 
under  arrest,  it  would  only  hasten  the  revolt  that  is 
brewing  in  the  breasts  of  our  friends  the  National 
Guards,  and,  lead  all  the  quicker  to  the  opening  of 
the  gates  to  the  Prussians.  For  one,  I  hope  the  con- 
test will  be  a  prolonged  one.  I  want  it  continued 
until  the  temporary  masters  of  France  become  as 
obnoxious  to  the  people  as  were  their  imperial  pre- 
decessors. Our  country  is  eighty  years  behind  the 
true  hour  of  her  destiny.  Except  for  the  unhappy 
ascendancy  of  the  first  Bonaparte .  she  would  have 
taken  her  rightful  place  before  the  end  of  the  last 
century.  We  must  see  to.it  that  she  is  not  controlled 
by  another  Man  on  Horseback,  when  next  we  find  her 
bleeding  in  the  dust" 


388  HEB  HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

These  sentiments  were  warmly  endorsed  by  all 
present,  and  similar  utterances  were  made  in  impas- 
sioned language(  by  many  others,  both  men  and 
women.  Arrangements  for  carrying  on  the  propa- 
ganda were  made,  reports  were  received  from 
various  committees,  and  new  life  was  instilled  into 
the  movement.  It  was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  the 
French  Commune  that  most  of  the  leaders  were  men 
of  foreign  birth,  and  none  of  them  were  more  trusted 
than  Edmund  Darrell.  His  untiring  labors,  his 
marked  devotion  made  him  conspicuous  even  in 
ranks  where  such  qualities  were  the  common  prop- 
erty of  all. 

When  the  meeting  broke  up  Miss  Casson  told  her 
friend,  Mile.  Thierry,  that  she  had  a  little  business 
to  transact  with  Mr.  Darrell,  and  remained  after  the 
others  had  departed.  But  when  she  found  that  they 
were  alone  she  could  hardly  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"The  Cause  promises  well,"  she  managed  to  artic- 
ulate, after  an  embarrassing  pause. 

"  I  should  answer  '  yes '  and  '  no '  to  that,"  he  re- 
plied. "  The  test  will  come  when  we  have  to  rely 
on  these  mercurial  French  to  fight  the  government 
forces.  I  will  say,  however,  that  I  have  high  hopes." 

"You  were  surprised  to  see  me  here." 

"  Yes.     How  did  you  manage  to  pass  the  barriers  ?" 

"There  is  no  guard  so  strong  that  it  can  keep  a 
woman  from  the  man  she  loves,"  she  answered,  with 
set  lips. 

The  reply  startled  and  did  not  please  him. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Laura,"  he  said,  "  is  this  a  time 
to  talk  of  love — when  we  are  all  lying  with  our  necks 
under  the  knife  !  I  have  but  one  sweetheart,  one 
wife,  one  hope — France  /" 

A  look  of  pain  and  sorrow  shot  across  her  face. 


SHUT   UP   IN    PARIS.  330 

"You  know  that  her  absolute  decree  of  divorce 
has  been  granted  ?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  and  I  am  glad  it  is  so." 

"She  will  marry  Mordaunt.  Probably  she  has 
done  so  already."  added  the  woman,  craftily. 

"It  would  be  all  the  same  to  me,"  he  responded, 
wearily,  "but  you  are  mistaken.  He  is  here,  in 
Paris." 

"  Here  !"  she  cried,  with  a  start. 

"Here.  He  called  at  this  house  this  morning. 
He  has  been  in  the  city  for  some  weeks." 

Her  look  of  incredulity  faded  slowly  away. 

''What  is  he  doing  here?  He  cannot  be  in  sym- 
pathy with  us." 

"  No.  He  is  only  waiting  an  opportunity  to  get 
away.  He  was  caught  unintentionally  when  the 
siege  began." 

She  eyed  him  narrowly. 

"  And  he  calls  on  you.     Are  you  friends  with  him  ?'* 

He  took  up  a  book  on  the  table — a  Life  of  Voltaire 
— and  turned  the  leaves  abstractedly. 

"  I  am  no  longer  the  friend  or  the  enemy  of  any 
man,"  he  said.  "  I  am  only  the  friend  or  the  enemy 
of  principles.  Harold  Mordaunt's  affairs  are  with- 
out interest  to  me.  I  care  no  longer  for  anything, 
but  the  Commune — and — Alice." 

As  she  gazed  at  him  with  new  inquiry  he  added — 

"My  little  daughter,  who  is  here  with  me." 

She  could  not  help  a  blind  and  unreasoning  jeal- 
ousy of  his  wife's  child  overcoming  her  at  that 
moment. 

"  You  took  a  child  from  her,  then  ?" 

"  I  left  one  and  took  one.  She  agreed  that  it  was 
fair.  But  of  what  interest  are  these  things  to  you  F 
We  can  never  again  be  more  than  the  merest  acquaint- 


MO  MEB   HUSBAND'S   FRIEND. 

ances.  The  past,  as  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned, 
'«  buried." 

She  was  a  picture  of  audacity  as  she  replied. 

a  Why  ?"  she  demanded,  harshly. 

"  Because  I  wish  it  so,'*  he  answered,  with  abrupt- 
ness.  "All  my  time,  all  my  energies,  all  my 
thoughts,  are  embarked  in  the  cause  of  the  freedom 
of  France.  My  life  has  hitherto  been  full  of  errors. 
I  will  keep  it  as  it  should  be  henceforth." 

There  seemed  little  use  in  talking  to  him,  but  she 
did  not  know  when  she  would  have  another  oppor- 
tunity. 

*'  Do  not  forget  one  thing,"  she  said.  "  Your  first 
mistake  was  when  you  married.  All  the  others  grew 
out  of  that  one." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  I  will  not  dispute  you,"  he  answered  ; 
"but  what  is  the  use  of  discussing  it  now  ?" 

"There  is  this  use,"  she  said.  "You  have  never 
heard  my  whole  story  and  I  have  waited  here  to  tell 
it  to  you.  Will  you  listen  ?" 

He  took  out  his  watch  impatiently,  and  bade  her 
proceed.  If  he  must  hear  this,  he  thought  it  quite 
as  well  that  it  should  be  now. 

"When  you  first  knew  me,"  she  said,  '*  I  was  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  Professor  Marlin.  He  had 
taken  me  when  I  was  a  homeless  little  orphan, 
adopted  and  educated  me.  When  he  asked  for  my 
hand  I  did  not  know  how  to  refuse  him,  for  there 
was  no  other  way  to  discharge  the  heavy  debt  I  had 
incurred.  He  was  the  kindest  and  the  best  of  men. 
He  admitted  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  me  ever 
since  I  was  fifteen  years  of  age.  He  alluded  to  our 
inequality  of  years,  and  said  he  did  not  \v:i  it  me  to 
marry  him  unless  I  could  bring  to  him  my  whole 
fetart.  At  that  time  the  thought  of  love  for  another 


8HUT  UP  IN  PARK,  34V 

%ad  never  entered  my  head,  and  t  promised  to  t)e  his 

wife  on  my  nineteenth  birthday.  In  the  interim  I 
met  you,  and  before  I  was  aware  of  it  all  the  affec- 
tion that  had  waited  for  a  responsive  touch  was 
awakened." 

Darrell  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  evidently 
much  disturbed. 

"  Laura,"  he  began,  in  a  tone  of  protest. 

*  Hear  me,"  she  replied,  u  for  my  story  is  not  a 
long  one.  I  cared  for  you  from  the  first  day  we 
met,  but,  even  on  that  afternoon  when  you  declared 
yourself,  I  did  not  realize  the  full  extent  o^  my  feel- 
ings. I  supposed  my  promise  to  the  Professor 
almost  as  binding  as  a  ceremony,  and  the  thought 
of  breaking  it  never  entered  my  mind.  When  he 
entered  the  room  and  found  me  with  my  arms 
about  your  neck,  you  remember  how  kind  he  was. 
When  you  had  gone,  he  took  me  on  his  knee  and 
said  there  was  yet  time  to  annul  our  contract,  and 
that  if  I  would  say  the  word  he  would  consider  our 
engagement  ended.  Then  he  left  me,  and  for  days 
we  hardly  saw  each  other. 

"  The  more  I  tried  to  think  I  ought  to  marry  him 
the  more  I  could  not.  Your  face  always  came  before 
me.  I  wanted  to  see  you  again  and  test  my  heart 
in  your  visible  presence,  but  you  did  not  come,  and 
I  did  not  know  where  you  had  gone.  The  next 
thing  was  your  letter  informing  me  that  you  had 
taken  a  wife.  The  world  receded  from  me.  As  I 
was  reading  it  Professor  Marlin  entered  the  room. 
The  suffering  oc  his  face  taught  me  my  duty.  I 
thought  of  all  his  years  of  more  than  fatherly 
tenderness,  and  I  leld  him  !  had  made  up  my  mind. 

"But  he  was  never  deceived.  My  spirits  could 
aetriteqgaia  fe  the**  former  ievei  I 


MS  HEB   HUSBAND^   FBIKNB. 

and  more  despondent  as  the  wedding  day  approached, 
and  though  I  did  my  best  to  conceal  it,  he  knew 
how  unhappy  I  was.  You  know  how  he  went  to 
the  Parker  House,  and  how,  before  the  ceremony 
was  performed,  he  was  dead.  After  the  funeral,  his 
lawyer  handed  me  an  envelope  directed  to  myself, 
and  I  found  two  documents  within.  One  was  his 
will,  bequeathing  me  the  whole  of  his  estate.  The 
other  was  a  letter,  dated  three  weeks  before. 

"  In  that  letter  he  stated  that  he  had  a  premonition 
that  he  should  never  live  to  marry  me — that  he  was 
destined  to  a  sudden  death.  In  case  his  anticipations 
proved  true,  he  begged  me  not  to  spend  too  long  a 
period  in  mourning  for  him,  but  to  give  my  hand  to 
some  good  man,  without  needless  delay.  A  fear 
came  over  me,  as  I  read  it,  that  all  was  not  right 
with  him.  A  physician,  at  my  request,  made  an 
autopsy,  and  found  that  he  had  taken  poison." 

Darrell  was  interested  at  last. 

"That  is  dreadful !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  fixedly  at  him. 
*  He  killed  himself  that  I  might  be  happy.  You 
know  the  Scripture  says,  *  Greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this.'  No  one  has  ever  been  told  of  it.  You, 
I,  and  the  doctor  are  the  only  persons  who  know. 
The  Professor  had  no  relations  and  ten  years  have 
passed.  That  is  why  I  feel  safe  in  confiding  the 
fact  to  you." 

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  and  then  Darrell 
said: 

*I  roust  confess  that  I  hardly  see  your  object." 

"Is  it  too  much,"  she  asked,  "that  such  sacrifice 
should  bear  its  legitimate  fruit  ?  Until  a  year  ago 
you  were  all  to  me  that  you  could  be  and  still  main- 
tain Ualtjr  to  your  foolish  marriage.  Now  you  are 


SHUT  UP  izr  PARIS.  343 

»o  iottgwr  bonnd.  For  nine  years  of  my  life — those 
years  that  ought  to  be  worth  most  to  a  woman — I 
gave  every  thought  to  you.  You  have  no  right  to 
cast  me  off." 

He  looked  sufficiently  astounded. 

"Well,  Laura,"  he  said,  "I  never  thought  you 
would  come  to  this  !" 

"Thought!"  she  exclaimed,  scornfully.  "What 
do  men  like  you  think  !  Did  you  imagine  I  was 
made  of  stone  or  iron  ?  I  was  eighteen  years  of  age 
when  we  wept  in  each  others  arms  because  of  what 
stood  in  the  way  of  our  union.  I  was  only  nineteen 
when  I  found  myself  an  unwedded  widow,  unable  to 
shed  tears  over  the  grave  of  my  benefactor,  be- 
cause his  death  left  my  path  the  more  open  to  you. 
Then  you  returned  to  me — have  you  forgotten  it — 
with  protestations  of  an  undiminished  love,  and  I 
took  you  for  what  you  were,  or  rather,  for  what  you 
seemed.  I  have  endured  all  the  tortures  that  a 
sensitive  mind  can  feel,  knowing  that  you  were  hers 
by  the  law,  and  mine  only  by  the  light  meaning  of 
a  word.  You  never  realized  what  agonies  I  passed 
through  in  those  years,  for  I  have  always  tried  to 
turn  to  you  the  face  of  a  sphinx,  resolved  to  perish 
rather  than  let  you  know  the  fire  that  was  consum- 
ing me.  I  talked  of  Communism,  social  reforms— 
of  everything  but  love  !  I  sat  with  you  day  by  day, 
listening  to  everything  but  that  which  I  hoped  and 
prayed  for — a  declaration  that  you,  like  me,  had 
borne  ail  that  you  could  bear.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
to  me  that  your  calmness  was,  like  mine,  assumed. 
Sometimes  it  came  upon  me,  as  I  know  it  now,  that 
the  affection  you  had  felt  for  me  in  my  girlhood  had 
died  and  been  buried.  Month  after  month,  year 
year,  I  endured  it,  Edmund,  for  at  least  I  had 


344  HER  HUSBAND'S 

your  presence  with  me.  But/when  you  came  DO  more, 
my  fortitude  gave  way." 

He  murmured  something  about  the  uselessness  of 
such  reminiscences,  and  the  pain  that  would  ensue 
from  calling  them  up,  but  she  would  not  cease. 

"  I  was  an  attractive  girl  when  you  first  knew  me. 
I  have  portraits  that  tell  me  I  was  almost  beautiful.  I 
am  an  old  woman  now.  See  !  I  am  growing  gray. 
I  am  tw«nty-nine !  The  woman  you  married  is 
about  my  age,  but  I  might  be  her  mother,  if  looks 
could  count.  I  have  seen  her,  tall  and  fresh  and 
ruddy.  -She  came  to  my  house  to  show  me  how 
much  she  ought  to  be  preferred.  I  wonder  that  I 
let  her  depart  alive.  She  had  borne  two  children  to 
you.  Two !  I  did  not  know  till  Harold  Mordaunt 
came  from  Europe  and  unwittingly  exposed  the  secret. 
But  she  is  gone;  she  is  no  longer  your  wife,  and  it  is 
time  you  did  me  justice." 

With  these  words  Laura  Casson  arose  with  dignity 
and  took  her  departure.  And  Darrell  sat  there  dumb- 
founded for  a  long  time,  till  it  dawned  upon  him  that 
her  mind  had  probably  become  affected  by  the  strain 
upon  it,  and  that  she  was  in  a  measure  irresponsible  for 
what  she  said. 

In  a  few  days  the  German  cannon  began  to  throw 
shot  into  the  city  and  little  Alice  found  herself  con- 
fined 'to  the  limits  of  the  house  and  garden  in  the 
Rue  Vaugiraud.  Her  father  was  now  very  busy,  and 
only  saw  her  for  a  few  moments  each  night  and 
morning,  except  when  a  meeting  was  held  at  her 
rooms,  when  as  before  she  was  always  allowed  to  be 
present.  The  provisions  grew  short,  and  the  hor- 
rors of  famine  began  to  prevail  around  them,  but 
Darrell,  with  commendab1?  foresight,  had  filled  his 
cellar  with  an  abundance  thut  enabled  him,  not  only 


SIDE  BY   BIDE.  345 

to  supply  his  own  table,  but  to  assist  many  of  his 
friends  who  would  otherwise  have  suffered  much. 

Mordaunt,  weary  of  idleness,  offered  his  services 
to  the  government,  and  bis  medical  knowledge  found 
him  plenty  to  do  in  the  hospitals. 

So  'the  terrible  winter  passed  away,  till  one  day 
in  March  the  hated  Prussians  walked  into  the  city. 
And  soon  after,  William  the  Kaiser  was  crowned" 
German  Emperor  in  the  palace  of  Louii  the  Great 
at  Versailles. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

SIDE    BY    SIDE. 

This  is  not  a  history  of  the  French  Commune 
The  terrible  events  of  that  spring  of  1871  in  Paris 
have  been  told  and  re-told  until  the  world  is  familiar 
with  them. 

Edmund  Darrell  threw  himself  into  the  popular 
cause  with  all  the  fervor  that  was  in  him.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  committees  of  supply  and  defence, 
was  called  Citizen  Darrell  by  his  associatss,  ani 
entrusted  with  important  affairs. 

Slowly  the  Communistic  forces  were  overcome  by 
the  better  fed  and  better  drilled  soldiers  of  the 
Versaillese  government.  Everybody  conversant  with 
the  conditions  knew  that  it  was  only  a  question  of 
days  when  order  would  prevail,  but  the  Parisians 
held  out  with  unexampled  desperation. 

On  the  i5th  of  May,  Darrell  assisted  at  th« 
Demolition  of  the  Colonne  Vendorae,  witfc 


346  HER    HUSBAND'S    FRIEND. 

of  genuine  satisfaction.  As  the  great  bronze  struc- 
ture fell,  he  imagined  he  could  see  falling  with  it  the 
tyranny  that  had  enslaved  man  for  centuries.  He 
remarked  with  pleasure  that  the  statue  of  the  first 
Napoleon,  which  had  surmounted  it,  was  broken  in 
pieces,  and  that  its  head  was  severed  from  its  body. 

But  the  joy  of  the  Commune  was  of  brief  dura- 
tion. Within  a  week  the  actual  taking  of  the  city 
had  begun,  and  in  a  few  days  more  only  the  most 
foolhardy  of  the  defenders  had  any  doubt  that  the 
end  was  near.  Government  troops  penetrated  to  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde  and  the  Place  de  1'Opera. 
Others  took  possession  of  the  Pare  Monceau  and 
still  others  occupied  the  Champs  de  Mars,  the  Ecole 
Militaire  and  the  In  valid  es. 

Those  in  charge  of  the  municipal  defence,  from 
their  quarters  in  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  issued  orders  to 
resort  to  the  ancient  system  of  barricades,  and  these 
were  erected  in  all  directions.  Passers-by  were 
arrested  and  pressed  into  the  service  under  threats 
of  assassination.  Mordaunt  was  stopped  one  morn- 
ing on  his  way  to  a  hospital,  and  ordered  to  assist 
the  diggers  who  were  throwing  up  earthworks. 
Upon  his  refusal,  in  terms  more  energetic  than  polite, 
he  was  about  to  be  executed  without  further  parley, 
when  George  Clarkson  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
He,  like  Darrell,  was  a  member  of  committees,  and 
his  authority  sufficed  to  save  the  American.  He  was 
a  mere  wreck,  physically,  but  the  excitement  of  the 
contest  kept  him  on  his  feet.  The  members  of  the 
National  Guard  always  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  Ghost." 

"What  can  you  gain  by  holding  out  any  longer  ?" 
said  Mordaunt  to  him,  when  they  were  a  little 
removed  from  the  scene  of  his  late  imminent  danger. 
**  It  must  be  evident  to  you  that  your  cause  is  utterly 


SIDE   BY   SIDE.  347 

hopeless.  The  Versaillese  will  shoot  you  all  down 
like  dogs  in  a  few  days  more." 

"  That  is  true,"  was  the  response.  "  Most  of  us  will 
die  here,  but  what  of  that  ?  As  the  blood  of  the 
martyrs  has  proved  the  seed  of  the  Church,  so  our 
deaths  will  do  more  than  our  lives  could  accomplish 
for  France  and  humanity.  Posterity  will  be  com- 
pelled at  least  to  own  our  valor.  Have  you  heard 
01  the  women  who  went  yesterday  with  a  demand 
for  a  mittrailleuse  for  the  barricade  in  the  Place  du 
Palais  Royal  ?  Each  one  wore  crape  for  a  lover  or 
brother,  whom  they  had  sworn  to  avenge.  There 
were  no  horses  to  be  had,  and  they  dragged  the 
machines  by  hand,  first  fastening  their  skirts  about 
their  waists  to  prevent  them  impeding  their  march. 
A  people  like  this  can  never  be  wholly  crushed. 
Our  cause  is  just,  and  as  for  our  lives — what  are 
they  ?  It  is  but  a  few  years  at  most  that  any  of  us 
would  live.  If  we  sacrifice  ourselves  for  Liberty,  do 
we  not  die  well  ?" 

The  last  struggle  took  place  on  Saturday,  May  27th. 
Three-quarters  of  the  attacking  army  were  massed 
in  a  semi-circle,  the  two  extremes  of  which  rested 
on  the  ramparts,  the  intermediate  portion  following 
the  boulevards  to  the  Chateau  d'Eau.  General 
Douay  advanced  by  the  Faubourg  du  Temple. 
General  Clinchart  attacked  by  the  Boulevard  Prince- 
Eugene.  Everywhere  the  resistance  was  furious. 
At  the  intersection  of  the  Boulevard  Richard-Lenoir 
and  the  Boulevard  Prince-Eugene,  stood  a  barricade 
sixty  yards  in  length.  As  the  obstacle  was  unap- 
proachable in  front,  the  troops  advanced  by  the 
Bastille,  and  succeeded  in  placing  the  fortification 
between  two  galling  fires.  The  slaughter  that 


348  HEE  HUSBAND'S  FRIESDL 

ensued  was  terrible.  The  ground  was  dotted  with 
blood,  and  corpses  lay  in  heaps. 

Here  Darrell  fought,  counselling  his  associates  not 
to  yield  an  inch  of  territory  until'the  latest  moment. 
At  last  the  remnant  of  the  survivors  fell-back.  ,  That 
evening  the'  Buttes  Chaumont  were  taken,  with 
about  eight  thousand  prisoners.  'The  Cemetery  of 
Pere-Lachaise  also. fell  into  the  hands  of  the  troops, 
and  General  Ladmirault  took'  the  Abattoir  and 
Cattle  Market  of  La  Villette.  Such  fury  of  attack 
and  such  desperation  of  resistance  can  hardly  find 
a  parallel  in  modern  warfare. 

The  National  Guards  who  were  left  from  the  gen- 
eral  destruction  plunged  into<  excesses-  when  night 
compelled  a  cessation  of  the  more  active  hostilities. 
Many  of  them  got  drunk  :on  wine  and  stronger 
liquors,  and  terrorized  whole  districts.  Women  and 
children  were  assaulted,  not  only  in  the  street,  but 
even  in  their  own  residences.  No  accurate  report  of 
the  outrages  committed  can  ever  be  made,  but  in 
their  recklessness  the  Guards  spared  neither  friend 
nor  foe.  They  seemed  to  realize  that  order  would 
soon  be  restored,  and  that  they  must  make  immedi- 
ate use  of  their  freedom. 

Tired  out  with  the  work  of  the  day,  Citizen  Dar- 
rell ate  his  loaf  of  .bread  at  Belleville,  and  issued  his 
orders  for  the  morrow.  Though  he  must  have 
realized  how  hopeless  was  the  contest  of  his  broken 
ranks  against  the  disciplined  and  victorious  legions 
of  the  enemy,  he  gave  no  sign  of  discouragement. 
He  had  taken  his  life  in  his  handiand  well  knew  his 
•probable  fate.  If  he  did  not  fall  in  battle,  a  speedy 
execution  was  almost  certain  to  be  his  doom.  The 
Federals  already  taken  had  been  mowed  down  in 
crowds  fey  the  government  rifles.  He  was  quite 


BIDE  BT  mm  849 

ready  to  follow  them.  Had  he  been  offered  a  gua/4 
to  escort  him  safely  beyond  the  lines,  he  would  not 
have  accepted  it  Such  is  the  sublimity  to  which 
man  can  rise,  either  in  a  good  cause  or  a  bad  one. 

Citizen  Darrell  had  lain  down  on  a  mattress  in 
one  of  the  buildings,  in  hopes  to  get  a  few  hours  of 
sorely-needed  sleep,  when  the  sentinel  at  his  door 
came  to  say  that  some  one  wished  to  see  him 
immediately.  When  the  visitor  was  admitted,  Dar- 
rell's  face,  covered  as  it  was  with  traces  of  smoke 
end  powder,  darkened  still  more  ;  for  he  recognized 
at  once  the  features  of  George  Clarkson. 

"  Do  you  come  on  business  of  the  State  P*  he 
demanded,  sharply. 

"No,"  replied  Clarkson,  not  raising  his  eyes,  "but 
It  is  a  personal  matter  of  the  greatest  importance." 

Darrell's  voice  was  as  hard  as  steel  when  he 
replied. 

"There  can  be  no  personal  matter  between  me 
and  you.  I  forbade  you  ever  to  speak  to  me,  and  1 
now  repeat  the  prohibition." 

He  looked  at  Clarkson's  face  as  he  finished,  and 
something  in  it  alarmed  him. 

"  It  is  not  about — about — Alice  f 

Clarkson's  head  hung  yet  lower. 

"  Speak,  man  !"  cried  Darrell.  **  I  can  bear  it 
Is  she  dead  ?" 

The  drooping  eyes  were  lifted  to  tho  father'* 
face. 

M  Worse,"  he  answered. 

For  a  minute  Darrell's  heart,  so  strong  in  ail  the 
carnage  of  the  day,  grew  sick  and  faint 

"  Tell  me  ail,"  he  said.  "  But,  remember,  I  do  t«* 
want  your  sympathy.  I  a-'  nothing  but  the  fact 

*  A  Uttift  white  ago,"  bcu  I  Clarkson,  slowly,    '   . 


850  HEE  HUSBAND'S  FKIKXD. 

met  a  number  of  National  Guards,  all  intoxicated 
They  were  carrying  away  your  child  and  several. 
women  by  force.  I  followed  them  for  some 
distance,  hoping  to  get  help  to  effect  a  rescue,  but 
all  the  other  Guards  that  they  met  laughed  at  the 
tears  of  the  captives  and  greeted  their  comrades  with 
jocular  remarks.  Finally  I  spoke  to  the  men  who 
carried  Alice,  offering  them  all  the  money  I  had 
with  me  for  her.  They  refused  with  oaths,  and 
continued  on  their  way.  In  desperation  I  fired  into 
the  party,  killing  several  of  them,  and  received  this 
wound  in  return." 

Darrell  now  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  one 
sleeve  of  Clarkson's  coat  hung  limp  at  his  side.  A 
bullet  had  shivered  the  bone  of  his  left  arm.  The 
father  broke  into  apologies,  but  the  man  stayed  him. 

"  We  may  be  able  to  overtake  them  if  you  can 
find  any  of  the  Guards  who  are  sober,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  not  wait  for  that,"  cried  Darrell,  throwing 
on  his  coat,  and  taking  up  a  musket.  "Show  me 
where  they  are.  I  am  a  match  for  twenty  of  them 
alone." 

But  before  they  had  gone  a  hundred  paces,  a 
Guard  stopped  him  with  a  letter. 

"  It  is  about  your  child,  Citizen,"  he  said 

This  was  the  contents  of  the  note  : 

AT  THE  RAMPARTS,  MIDNIGHT. 
DEAR  EDMUND  :  Some  of  our  men  captured  a 
party  of  Federals  a  few  moments  ago,  and  I  found 
Alice  with  them.  The  Guards  who  had  her  were  too 
drunk  to  resist,  and,  being  taken  with  arms  in  their 
hand?,  were  promptly  shot.  I  shall  take  the  best  of 
•are  of  your  child  till  I  see  you  again.  But  will  you 
•Ot  take  this  opportunity  to  save  your  life  ?  I  aoa 


SIDE  BY   SID»  851 

promised  by  the  cowmandant  that  If  you  will  sur- 
render at  once  you  shall  be  allowed  to  depart  freely. 

HARRY. 

Leaving  Clarksoa  in  the  street,  Darrell  returned 
to  his  post  with  the  feeling  of  one  who  is  partially 
paralyzed.  The  next  day  he  fought  like  a  demon. 
Before  night  he  was  surrounded  and  taken  prisoner, 
after  a  desperate  resistance.  Having  secured  the 
deep  attachment  of  the  general  in  charge,  Mordaunt 
was  enabled,  iu  spite  of  all,  to  save  him,  and  to  Dar- 
rell's  surprise  he  was  marched  off  to  a  prison  instead 
of  joining  the  others,  who  were  destined  to  imme- 
diate death, 

The  bravery  of  the  American  surgeon,  and  the 
value  of  liis  services,  also  secured  to  him  a  docu- 
ment ordering  the  same  disposition  for  two  other 
Americans  supposed  to  be  among  the  captured, 
but  he  could  not  find  them  in  time.  One  was  a 
defiant  woman  in  the  prime  of  life,  the  other  an 
emaciated  man  with  a  broken  arm.  Both  were 
taken  with  arms  in  their  hands,  and  after  suffering 
various  indignities,  were  placed  against  a  blank 
wall  to  be  shot.  The  man  pleaded  earnestly  with 
his  captors,  not  for  his  own  life,  but  for  hers.  He 
urged  her  sex,  ner  nationality,  even  the  doubtful 
condition  of  her  mind,  and  offered  to  give  an  order 
for  a  large  sum  of  money,  but  in  vain.  He  soon  saw 
that  nothing  could  move  the  heart  of  the  lieuten- 
ant, who  had  had  two  brothers  murdered  by  the 
Communists.  Time  was  pressing.  The  lives  ot 
the  prisoners  were  limited  to  seconds.  They 
granted  him  leave  at  last  to  go  to  the  woman's 
side  and  speak  to  her, 

**  Laura,"  he  said,  "  we  are  to  die.*" 


353  HER  HUSBAND'S  FBIBNBL 

"Yes,"  she   replied,  with  a  preat 
Prance  and  humanity !" 

"You— you  are  not  afraid P 

"  No." 

The  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

*  I  have  long  had  but  one  wish,"  he  said.  "  Will 
you  not  let  it  be  gratified  ?  A  priest  is  just  below 
us.  Let  him  say  the  words." 

As  she  comprehended  his  meaning,  she  shook  her 
head. 

"Priests  have  had  their  day,"  she  replied.  "  It  is 
not  for  them  to  unite  souls.  Only  great  love  or  a 
great  purpose  can  do  that." 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

"  A  great  love  is  more  than  I  can  ask  of  you,"  he 
said,  speaking  rapidly,  "  but  a  great  purpose  we 
surely  have  in  common.  See !  The  soldiers  are 
raising  their  rifles.  They  only  wait  the  word  of 
command.  Let  us  go  out  of  the  world  husband 
and  wife  !" 

She  had  a  momentary  struggle,  and  then  she  said, 
"  We  will"  And  as  his  lips  touched  her  forehead, 
the  spectators,  who  numbered  thousands,  heard  the 
frightful  crash  of  three  hundred  guns  fired  simul- 
taneously. 

The  squad  who  buried  the  victims,  found  thest 
two  with  their  hands  still  clasped  together ;  and 
.hey  laid  them  side  by  side. 


PEACE  AT   LAST.  353 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

PKACB    AT    LAST 

Through  those  long  weeks  when  she  could  hear 
nothing  from  her  friends  shut  up  in  Paris,  Anna 
Darrell  suffered  all  the  tortures  of  suspense  and  fear. 
Her  dearly  beloved  daughter  was  there,  her  lover, 
whom  she  had  come  to  regard  with  the  tenderest 
feelings,  and  her  late  husband,  toward  whom  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  feel  anything  like  animos- 
ity, now  that  he  was  in  danget  Each  day  she 
scanned  the  newspapers  for  accounts  of  the  situa- 
tion, bfct  found  little  to  comfort  her.  The  funds 
which  Mordaunt  had  left  "  for  Ethel "  grew  low,  and 
another  experience  with  want  seemed  about  to  stare 
her  in  the  face.  Even  Laura  Casson  might  have 
relented  in  her  hatred  had  she  seen  her  rival  in 
those  unhappy  days. 

When  her  affairs  were  at  the  lowest  ebb,  a  letter 
came,  bearing  the  post-mark  of  Auburn.  She  was 
not  familiar  with  the  writing,  and  she  sat  for  a  long 
time  holding  it  in  her  hand,  hardly  daring  to  break 
the  seal.  Auburn  !  What  a  flood  of  memories  the 
word  brought  !  The  scenes  of  her  childhood,  her 
youth,  her  marriage,  all  came  back  to  her.  In 
Auburn  her  children  were  born.  In  Auburn  she 
first  saw  Harry  Mordaunt.  Across  the  hedge  of  her 
homestead  she  had  heard  her  husband  express  doubt 
that  she  had  been  true  to  him,  and  there  the  love 
that  had  survived  all  his  neglect  died  out  of  her 
breast  forever.  Who  in  Auburn  could  writ*  to  her? 


354:  HER  HUSBAND^   FRIEND. 

The  missive  was  a  brief  one,  but  its  contents  were 
momentous.  The  signature  was  that  of  Lawyer 
Jacobs.  He  wrote  to  say  that  her  aunt  was  dead, 
and  that  her  Uncle  Ephraim  wanted  her  to  come 
and  live  with  him.  Miss  Burton  had  been  in  feeble 
health,  said  the  lawyer,  for  some  time,  and  her 
decease  was  not  unanticipated  by  the  neighbors. 
He  advised  Anna  to  accept  her  uncle's  invitation, 
and  hoped  she  would  come  with  the  least  possible 
delay. 

Her  first  impression  was  that  she  had  best  not 
comply  with  the  suggestion,  but  on  reflection  she 
decided  to  go.  It  would  be  hard  to  face  the  people 
of  Auburn,  who  had  always  thought  so  highly  of 
her,  and  who  were  now,  without  doubt,  prejudiced 
by  the  slanderous  tongue  of  rumor.  They  had 
known  her  when  she  was  a  happy  wife  and  mother. 
They  knew  her  now  as  a  divorced  woman,  and  whose- 
ever  is  the  fault,  a  taint  hangs  to  the  divorced 
person  in  the  minds  of  the  good  back-country  folk 
of  New  England.  Probably  they  had  also  talked 
over  her  relations  with  Mordaunt,  and  drawn  their 
own  none  too  lenient  conclusions.  But  her  uncle 
was  alone  and  wanted  her,  and  it  was  her  duty 
to  go. 

Ephraim  Burton  met  her  at  the  depot,  a  little 
more  bent,  a  little  more  dried  up  than  of  yore,  and 
escorted  her  to  his  lonely  home.  She  thought  she 
would  have  known,  even  if  nobody  had  told  her, 
that  her  aunt  had  died,  for  there  was  an  atmosphere 
in  the  deserted  rooms  that  only  death  can  bring. 
Ephraim  had  a  woman  to  do  the  housework — one  of 
those  noiseless-footed  women  that  add  to  the  still- 
ness of  the  places  where  they  walk.  Little  Ethel  was 
unfavorably  impressed  by  everything  that  she  saw, 


PEACE    AT   LAST.  5^ 

and  did  not  at  all  like  the  idea  of  taking  off  fc*r 
things  and  considering  herself  at  home.  Neil!  tt 
she  nor  her  mother  ate  much  of  the  supper  that  w  as 
prepared  for  them,  and  both  retired  early. 

The  next  morning  Ephraim  told  in  slow  language 
the  story  of  his  sister's  death. 

"  After  she  come  back  from  Philadelphy,"  he  said, 
"  she  didn't  seem  to  care  any  more  for  anything. 
She  used  to  sit  all  day  in  the  winder  there  with 
hardly  a  word,  and  her  appetite  fell  away  astonish- 
ing. I  wanted  to  call  the  doctor,  but  she  wouldn't 
hear  to  it.  Some  of  the  neighbors  come  in  and 
offered  to  do  anything  they  could  for  her,  but  she 
said  there  wasn't  nothing  to  be  done,  and  that  she 
would  be  out  in  a  few  days.  You  know,  Anna,  that 
your  aunt  always  had  her  own  way,  and  I  couldn't 
do  anything  right  against  her  will.  The  morning 
she  died — and  I  hadn't  the  least  idea  she  was  so 
near  the  end — she  talked  to  me  about  you.  At  first 
she  scolded,  and  said  you  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  have  acted  so  cross  when  she  went  to 
see  you.  And  then  she  grew  very  tender  like,  and 
asked  me  to  bring  her  that  last  will  that  Jacobs 
made,  leaving  the  property  to  the  missionaries.  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do,  then,  for  I  had  burned  it  up 
as  soon  as  it  came  home,  for  fear  anything  should 
happen  to  me  suddenly,  and  I  didn't  mean 
that  you  should  lose  what  belonged  to  you  by 
right.  But  I  pertended  to  hunt  for  it,  and  at  last  I 
come  back,  as  she  was  getting  uneasy,  and  said  I 
couldn't  find  it.  She  was  very  low.  then,  and  I  got 
scared,  and  asked  her  to  let  me  go  for  help,  but  she 
wouldn't.  'I  want  you  to  promise  me,  Ephraim," 
said  she,  'that  you  will  destroy  that  will.  I  wan? 
Anna  to  have  the  property  when  you  are  through 


TOO  HEB   HUSBAND'S  FRIEND. 

with  it,  and  I  want  her  to  come  here  and  live  with 
you  after  I  am  gone.'  I  saw  then  for  certain  that 
she  was  really  dying,  and  I  called  out  of  the  winder 
to  one  of  the  neighbors  who  was  passing,  to  send 
the  nearest  doctor  as  soon  as  he  could.  When  I  got 
back  to  her  she  asked  me  again  to  promise,  and  I 
told  her  what  I  had  done  when  the  new  will  come 
home.  You  ought  to  have  seen  her  smile.  She 
caught  my  hand  and  held  it  tight,  and  when  the  doc- 
tor got  there  she  was  dead." 

Anna  wept  at  the  recital.  She  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  knowing  that  the  good  will  of  her  only  rela- 
tions was  restored  to  her,  though  one  of  them  had 
left  earth  too  soon  to  feel  her  gratitude.  The  dar- 
ing that  her  uncle  had  shown  was  a  genuine  surprise. 
and  it  revealed  a  new  side  of  his  nature.  Crushed 
as  he  had  been  by  the  superior  strength  of  mind  of 
his  strong-willed  sister,  he  had  yet  dared  to  prevent 
the  injustice  which  she  contemplated  toward  their 
brother's  child.  Anna  saw  more  than  the  assur- 
ance of  a  temporal  comfort  in  the  story  of  the  old 
man.  She  learned  that  he  had  a  warmer  place  in 
his  heart  for  her  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  of, 
and  that  her  aunt  must  have  suffered  something  of 
the  pangs  that  rent  her  own  breast  at  the  unfortu- 
nate circumstances  which  sundered  them. 

Ephraim  Burton  heard  his  niece's  story  of  her 
fears  in  regard  to  her  dear  ones  across  the  seas,  and 
promptly  advised  her  to  take  an  early  steamer  for 
England,  where  she  would  be  in  a  position  to  get 
the  first  news  of  them  when  the  siege  of  Paris  was 
ra^ed.  He  provided  her  with  funds  for  this  pur- 
pose, and  did  everything  that  he  could  to  facilitate 
her  departure.  She  took  ILthel  with  her,  hating  to 
leave  the  only  child  she  could  now  claim,  even 


PEACE   AT  LAST.  357 

though  there  were  great  dangers  in  the  journey  she 
was  about  to  undertake.  Arriving  at  London  she 
engaged  a  courier,  and  several  days  after  the  end  of 
the  Commune's  struggle,  she  found  herself  in  Paris. 

Harold  Mordaunt  was  easily  found  by  the  courier. 
The  fame  of  the  young  surgeon  had  spread  over  the 
city,  and  he  was  as  easy  to  locate  as  one  of  the  suc- 
cessful generals.  In  two  hours  after  he  learned  that 
Anna  was  in  Paris  he  was  by  her  side.  And,  more 
than  that — much  more,  to  her — he  had  Alice  with 
him. 

Sitting  in  her  little  parlor  at  a  hotel,  he  told  his 
story,  and  Alice  told  hers.  He  had  recently  proved 
beyond  doubt  that  Clarkson  and  Miss  Casson  had 
perished  in  the  manner  related  in  the  preceding 
chapter.  One  of  the  soldiers  who  participated  in 
the  execution  had  recognized  Clarkson  as  a  man 
whom  he  had  seen  talking  once  with  Mordaunt,  and 
had  taken  pains  to  bring  him  the  sad  news.  Alice 
told  how  Clarkson  had  tried  in  every  way  to  save 
her  from  the  Guards  who  abducted  her,  and  her 
mother's  heart  was  touched.  She  freely  forgave 
them  both  for  the  injury  they  had  done  to  her,  and 
uttered  a  prayer  that  Heaven  would  be  merciful  to 
their  souls. 

"  As  for  your  husband — I  mean  Mr.  Darrell,"  said 
Mordaunt,  in  some  confusion,  "he  is  still  in  confine- 
ment. His  life  was  promised  me  by  one  of  my 
friends  among  the  officers,  who  ordered  him  to  be 
exempted  from  the  general  fate  of  those  taken  with 
him,  but  unfortunately  the  officer  was  killed  the 
same  day  by  the  accidental  explosion  of  a  shell,  and 
was  consequently  unable  to  carry  out  his  agreement. 
The  general-in-chief  has  strong  ev'dence  against 
Edmund,  and  so  far  my  pleadings  have  been  in  vain. 


358  HER  HUSBJLND'S  FBIEKD. 

I  shall  use  every  effort  to  have  him  released,  but  I 
must  tell  you  that  a  feeling  of  bitterness  to  all  of 
the  prisoners  who  held  out  the  longest  prevails  in 
official  circles.  If  you  would  like  to  see  him,  I  will 
obtain  a  permit." 

Anna  said  immediately  that  she  would  go  as  soon 
as  the  document  could  be  obtained,  and  Mordaunt 
went  to  get  it. 

"  Citizen  Darrell,"  as  he  called  himself,  said  the 
governor  of  the  prison,  "  is  a  very  sick  man.  He 
had  three  wounds  of  which  he  never  spoke  when  he 
came  here,  and  the  surgeons  say  he  can  live  but  a 
few  days  at  the  longest.  There  will  probably  be  no 
more  executions  for  a  week,  and  by  that  time,  if  I 
do  not  mistake,  he  will  have  passed  where  another 
tribunal  will  judge  his  cause.  His  wife  wishes  to  see 
him,  you  say  ?  Certainly  she  shall  have  the  privilege. 
This  paper  will  admit  her  as  often  as  she  desires." 

When  Mordaunt  and  Mrs.  Darrell  were  shown 
into  the  cell  occupied  by  the  invalid  they  found  him 
in  a  high  fever.  The  doctor  who  attended  him  told 
them  that  he  was  a  little  "  flighty  " — in  that  state 
where  reason  and  unreason  struggle  for  the  mastery. 
Anna  threw  herself  upon  his  breast,  and  kissed  his 
pale  lips  with  all  the  ardor  of  wifehood.  According 
to  the  decision  of  a  judge  he  was  no  longer  her  hus- 
band, but  the  near  presence  of  the  Great  Destroyer 
brought  back  all  her  old  affection. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?"  she  asked  him,  gazing  long- 
ingly into  his  sunken  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded,  with  an  attempt  to  smile. 
•'  And  I  know  him,  also.  My  wife  and  my  old 
friend  !" 

"  I  have  come  across  the  seas  to  see  you,"  she 
went  on.  "I  hoped  that  I  could  do  something  for 


PEACE   AT   LAST.  359 

you.  I  wanted  to  take  you  back  to  America,  where 
we  rould  be  happy  again." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  have  never  made  you  happy, 
and  I  never  could.  He," — he  pointed  to  Mordaunt, 
who  had  retired  to  the  farther  corner  of  the  room, 
"he  is  the  one  who  can  do  that.  I  want  you  to 
love  her,  Harry,  as  I  ought  to  have  done.  Promise 
me." 

Then  his  mind  wandered  for  a  few  moments. 

"If  he  will  not  fight  for  the  Commune,  let  him 
die  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What  does  he  say — that  he 
cannot  disgrace  his  uniform  ?  How  could  one  dis- 
grace the  uniform  that  proclaims  him  a  lackey  of 
Bonaparte  ? — I  love  France  !  I  love  her  as  a  bishop 
loves  blood,  as  a  Christian  loves  gold  ! — Never  trust 
one  who  makes  a  parade  of  her  virtue. — To-day 
unchastity  is  the  crowning  sin  of  woman,  to-morrow 
it  will  be  something  else  ! — They  say  it  is  drink  that 
keeps  down  the  laboring  classes.  If  I  were  one  of 
them  I  would  drink  myself  drunk  and  never  live  to 
see  a  sober  hour.  What  have  they  to  gain  by  con- 
sciousness ? — I  cannot  kiss  you.  No  one  can  give  a 
true  love-kiss  unless  his  soul  is  on  its  bended  knee  ! 
— If  a  city  like  this  can  supply  the  people  with 
music,  why  not  with  bread  ?  If  it  can  give  free 
water  in  the  public  fountains,  why  not  in  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  poor?  If  the  authorities  can  pay 
priests,  why  not  doctors  ? — Every  man  believes  in  a 
God ;  otherwise  he  thinks  a  Shakespeare  or  a 
Newton  the  greatest  mind  that  ever  existed. — Why 
have  they  brought  me  here  ?  I  demand  my  privi- 
lege to  die  with  the  rest  !" 

Then  he  roused  himself,,  and  said    feebly — 

"Where  is  Alice?  They  told  me  she  was  stfe. 
Can  you  not  bring  her  to  me  ?" 


360  HER   HUSBAND'S   PRIKHBl. 

Anna  held  his  hot  hands. 

"Can  you  understand  me  perfectly?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded. 

"She  is  such  a  child,  Edmund.  I  fear  it  would 
give  her  too  great  a  shock.  But  if  you  wish  it — " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No.  I  was  very  thoughtless.  She  ought  not  to 
come.  But  she  loves  me  very  much,  and  her  heart 
was  in  the  Cause.  Did  you  know  that  Clarkson  had 
an  arm  broken  when  he  tried  to  save  her  ?  I 
thought  I  would  never  speak  to  him  again,  but  I 
thanked  him  for  that.  Have  you  seen  Alice  ?  Mor- 
daunt  has  her.  He  will  take  good  care  of  her  and 
of  you.  Is  the  other  one  well — Ethel  ?  They  are 
good  children.  I  have  been  a  bad  father.  Teach 
them  to  forgive  me,  if  you  can." 

She  told  him  that  they  both  loved  him  very  much, 
and  that  they  had  nothing  to  forgive.  And  her 
tears  fell  fast. 

"  I  am  sorry — very  sorry,"  he  went  on,  "  for  the 
way  I  used  you.  I  thought  my  happiness  bound  up 
in  another  ;  but  I  was  true  to  you,  Anna,  through  it 
all.  I  neglected  you,  but  I  was  not  as  bad  as  you 
might  have  thought.  It  was  all  a  terrible  mistake. 
Then  you  remember  how  I  blamed  Harry.  I  saw 
afterward  how  wrong  that  xvas.  Where  is  he  ?  I 
want  to  see  him." 

Mordaunt  came  forward,  and  the  dying  man  put 
their  hands  in  those  of  each  other. 


*•  I  am  only  sorry  for  one  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Mor- 
daunt, on  the  day  that  she  found  herself  entitled  to 
bear  that  name,  "and  that  is  that  I  let  you  kiss  me 
and  take  me  in  your  arms  so  long  ago.  I  cannot 


PSAGB    AT   LAST.  361 

excuse  myself,  for  by  the  ties  of  law  I  was  then  the 
wife  of  another." 

"But  I  was  your  husband's  friend,"  he  answered 
*'It  cannot  be  that  you  intend  to  let  that  little  slip 
distress  you." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

'*  A  little  slip  /"  she  echoed.  "  You  would  not  call 
it  a  little  slip  if  I  should  do  the  same  thing  now 
with  some  one  else  !" 

"Ah!  "he  cried  with  a  start.  "  That  would  be  a 
very  different  thing  !" 

She  laughed  softly  at  his  earnestness,  and  as  they 
were  talking  the  children  came  to  join  them. 

"And  how  do  you  like  your  new  papa?"  she 
asked. 

Ethel  came  and  nestled  to  Mordaunt's  side,  lifting 
her  rosy  mouth  for  him  to  kiss,  but  Alice  burst  into 
sobbing. 

"  I  am  glad  mamma  is  to  be  happy,"  she  said,  when 
she  could  speak,  "  and  I  am  sure  I  like  you,  and 
I  hope  you  won't  think  me  naughty.  But,  oh,  I  did 
love  my  father  so  much  !" 

And  Mordaunt  took  her  in  his  lap,  and  his  own 
eyes  filled  as  he  soothed  her  against  his  breast. 


THE  SELECT  NOVELS 


OF 

MARION  HARLAND 


ALONE. 

HIDDEN  PATH. 
MOSS  SIDE. 
NEMESIS. 
MIRIAM. 
SUNNY  BANK. 
RUBY'S  HUSBAND. 
AT  LAST. 


MY  LITTLE  LOVE. 
PHEMIE'S  TEMPTATION. 
THE  EMPTY  HEART. 
FROM  MY  YOUTH  UP. 
HELEN  GARDNER. 
HUSBANDS  AND  HOMES. 
JESSAMINE. 
TRUE  AS  STEEL. 


"  The  Novels  of  Marion  Harland  are  of  surpassing  ex- 
cellence. By  intrinsic  power  of  character  -  drawing  and 
descriptive  facility,  they  hold  the  reader's  attention  with  the 
most  intense  interest  and  fascination." 


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THE  FAMILY 

Of  this  book  (founded  on  the  play  by  ROBERT  HOB  ART  DAVIS), 
The  Portland  (Oregon)  Journal  said:  "Nothing  more  powerful  has 
recently  been  put  between  the  covers  of  a  book."  i2mo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.  50  cents. 

THE  SPENDTHRIFT 

ThoLogansport  (Ind.)  Journal :  "A  tense  story,  founded  on  PORTER 
EMERSON  BROWNE'S  play,  is  full  of  tremendous  situations, 
and  preaches  a  great  sermon."  i2mo,  cloth  bound,  with  six  illus- 
trations from  scenes  in  the  play.  50  cents. 

IN  OLD  KENTUCKY 

Based  upon  CHARLES  T.  DAZEY'S  well-known  play,  which  has 
been  listened  to  with  thrilling  interest  by  over  seven  million  pt-ople. 
"A  new  and  powerful  novel,  fascinating  in  its  rapid  action.  Its 
touching  story  is  told  more  elaborately  and  even  more  absorbingly 
than  it  was  upon  the  stage." — Nashville  American,  izmo,  cloth. 
Illustrated.  50  ceats. 


By  ARTHUR  HORNBLOW 

The  Talker  Just  issued 

An  impeachment  of  the  attitude  of  many  women  with  regard  to  the 

•acrednes*  of  the  marriage  tie— From  the  play  of 

MARION  FAIRFAX. 

A  poignantly  afSectiag  dory,  deeply  arresting  in  its  sizaificance. 


4th  Large  Edition 

tke  Play  of 
CHARLES  KENYON. 

"A  dramatic  a*d  interesting  story  from  the  powerful  and  unaeual  pUy."— Buffalo  Express. 

Bought   and   Paid    For  5tk  Large  Edition 

A   tremendous    arraignment   of   the  mercenary    marriage— From  the  play  <rf 

GEORGE  BROADHURST. 

"The  story  i.  intensely  human  in  its  serious  side  and  delightfully  amusing  in  its  lighter 
phase*."  — Boston   Globe. 

Tke    Gamblers  85th  Thousand 

of  Charles  Klein. 

t  of  the  method,  of  modem  finance."— PhOedttphia  Pre*. 


The  Easiest  Way  6th  Large  Edition 

A  vivid  story  of  metropolitan  life  from  Eugene  Walter's  thrilling  play. 
"The  easiest  way  k  in  reality  (fee  hardest  way."— Sorfon  Times 

John  Marsh's  Millions  6th  Large  Edition 

The  struggle  of  a  young  girl,  heiress  to  millions. 

"Has  many  thrilling  dramatic  situations." — Si.  Louis  Post-Dispatch. 

The  Third  Degree  ?oth  Thousand 

A  brilliant  novelization  of  Charles  Klein's  great  play. 
"A  stronsly-painted  picture  of  certain  conditions  in  the  administration  of  law  and 
justice."  —Philadelphia  Record. 

By  Right  of  Conquest  looth  Thousand 

A  thrilling  story  of  shipwreck  upon  a  deserted  bland. 

"A  sensational  situation  handled  with  delicacy  and  vigor." — Boston  Transcrif*. 

The  End  of  the  Game  75th  Thousand 

A  love  story  dealing  with  the  perils  of  great  wealth. 
"A  thoroughly  wholesome  book,  with  action  in  the  drama  and  real  human  interest." 

—Literary  Digest. 

The  Profligate  eoth  Thousand 

A  thrilling  story  of  love,  mystery  and  adventure. 
"The  moral  tone  of  the  story  is  excellent."  — Baltimore  Sun. 

The  Lion  and  the  Mouse  200th  Thousand 

A  LrZ:V,ani  novoH::.->-i   of  Charles  Klein's  wonderful  play. 

"As  fascinaUDg  as  Mi.  Kin..     u!ay."— Boston  Transcript. 


Mrs.  George  Sheldon  Downs 


Katharine's  Sheaves 

A  Great  Novel  With  a  Great  Purpose. 

Katheoae's  Shorn*  b  altogether  delfehtM,  a  cfcaonmg  piece  of 
fiction,  a  bsftutifui  romance.  One  most  admire  the  book  for  its  charac- 
urLiUion,  its  briffiant  pictures  of  fife,  and  its  dramatic  situations,  but 
still  more  for  its  phflosopky  and  wisdom. 

The  story  te  a  dcamatie  oae,  aboondmg  m  strong  situations. 

The  plat  k  wefl  conceived  and  carried  out,  the  style  easy  and  the 
characters  Bkahk. 

i*me,  Chtk,  Itturfrart.    PopHbr  BK*o»,  50  cents. 


Step  by  Step 


Judged  as  a  story  pure  and  ample,  "STEP  BY  STEP"  is  altogether 
delightful.  But  it  is  not  merely  a  charming  piece  of  fiction.  Ethical  in 
its  nature,  the  underlying  thought  shows  throughout  the  lofty  purpose 
and  high  ideals  of  the  author,  and  exhales  a  wholesome  atmosphere,  while 
tke  dement  of  romance  perrading  it  ia  both  elevated  and  enriched  by  its 


zemo,  Cioth,  Illustrated.    Popular  Ritoum,  50  cmts. 

Gertrude  Elliot's  Crucible 

It  ia  a  Madeble  story,  dean,  wholesome,  and  high  in  moral 
optimistic  and  constructive. 

It  has  an  afloring  plot,  and  is  well  and  skillfully  worked  out.  The 
incidents  are  dramatic,  and  therefore  always  striking,  and  the  entire 
romance  wffl  hold  the  attention  of  the  reader. 

ismo,  CMh  Bound,  Wustretod.    Popular  Edition,  50  cents. 

Redeemed 

Dealing  with  dfvoree — the  moat  vital  problem  in  the  world  to-day 
— tkfc  book  teDs  how  a  pure-minded  woman  is  divorced  from  her  hus- 
band, upoa  a  flimsy  pretext,  because  he  wishes  to  marry  again.  How 
he  suffers  when  he  learns  that  he  has  thrown  away  the  true  disinterested 
love  of  a  noble  woman,  and  how  he  craves  that  love  again,  makes  a 
vivid,  forceful  rtory  of  aa  mtensdy  modern  significance. 

ttnto,  Chtk,  Illustrated.     Popular  Edition,  50  tmtt. 


POPULAR  NOVELS 


BY 


MRS.  MARY  J.  HOLMES 


TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE 
ENGLISH  ORPHANS 
HOMESTEAD  ON  HILLSIDE 
XENA  RIVERS 
MEADOW  BROOK 
DORA  DEANE 
COUSIN  MAUDE 
MARIAN  GREY 
EDITH  LYLE 
DAISY  THORNTON 
CHATEAU  o'Oa 
QUEENIE  HETHERTON 
BESSIE'S  FORTONB 
MARGUERITE 


DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGHT 

HUGH   WORTHINGTON 

CAMERON  PRIDE 
ROSE  MATHER 
ETHBLYN'S  MISTAKE 

MlLBANK 

EDNA  BROWNING 
WEST  LAWN 

MlLDBED 

FORREST  HOUSK 

MADELINE 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES 

GRETOHEN 

DR.  HATHERN'SDAWI 


MRS.  HALLAM'S  COMPANION  PAUL  RALSTON 
THE  TRACY  DIAMONDS        THE  CKOMPTONS 
THE  ABANDONED  FARM        RENA'S  EXPERIMENT 


"  Mra.  Holmes  i*  a  peculiarly  pleasant  and  fascinating  writer.    Her 

books  are  always  entertaining,  and  she  has  the  rare  facaHjr  of 

ealisring  the  sympathy  and  ajiections  of  her  readers,  and 

of  hotding  their  attention  to  her  pages  with 

deep  and  absorbing  interest." 

Handsome!?  bound  in  cloth.     Price,  50  cte.  eadi 
and  sent  f*ce  by  mail  on  receipt  of  price 

G.   W.   DILUNGHAM    CO..    Publishers 

NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


rm  L9-Series  444 


4  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


III 
A     000  033  062     1 


